


Bramley Apple Pie

by Rathmax



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Time Travel, Warden in Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:05:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5290001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rathmax/pseuds/Rathmax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elise Cousland isn't like other nobles. After spending most of her life away from Fereldan, she returns to a family she once lost in a world she had forgotten years ago. How does a woman from a different world adapt to becoming one of three people who can save it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bramley Apple Pie Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my very first attempt at writing (anything) at all so I hope that it's not too awful and that you can enjoy it :) I'm hoping to get updates out fairly regularly, whether that will be regularly every week, every month or every two months is anybody's guess at the moment as my work and family life is pretty hectic! This will be fairly AU but I'm going to try and stick to canon as much as I possibly can. Anyway, please let me know what you think so far (be nice!). Xx
> 
> Also please note that I Have changed the main character's name to Elise. This started as a self insert but knowing what is to come, it just felt weird to write.

**9:15 Dragon**

Fergus Cousland was in trouble. He had been tasked with watching his younger siblings during the annual boar hunt of Highever and, as usual, the pair of them had disappeared together and were probably watching him from somewhere hidden, laughing at his attempts to locate them. Not that he could blame them, Father had forbidden the three of them from leaving the castle grounds during the hunt and Oscar reacted badly to the news in the way that only a seven year old could; with tears, stomping feet and promises to behave if only Father please, please, _please_ brought him along.

Fergus knew that he should have suspected that something was amiss when Oscar’s twin, Elise, quietly and demurely accepted the news and returned to her needlework without a word. He should have known at that point that she was going to try and sneak them both out to watch, normally he would have picked up on it straight away; his younger sister wasn’t nearly as subtle as she thought. However, the bustle and excitement of the hunt and gathering had made him less than attentive, especially knowing that the Howes were staying in the castle. He would much rather be sparring with Nathanial than babysitting the twins. Now his lack of attention was going to get him into trouble _again_ , and the only comforting thought was that if he found them, at least they would share the blame. _Not if,_ when _I find them,_ he mentally cursed himself, as he jogged up to the battlements.   

Despite the usually warm time of year, the wind was bitter and biting, seeming to come in from the Waking Sea to the north. To the west lay undulating land, scattered with conifer trees, which gradually became thicker and denser as the land lead up to the West Hill Mountains. It was in this wood at the foot of the hills where his father, Arl Howe and a number of their men would be until they returned with their prize. Fergus idly wondered how long it would take them to kill a wild boar. Although he was twelve years old, his father still saw him as a child and as such, did not permit him to join the hunt, despite his protestations otherwise. The reality was that he had no idea how long a hunt with so many men would take. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and looked over the edge of the battlements, still no sign of the twins. He was so consumed by his own thoughts that he had not noticed Delilah Howe stood not ten feet away from him, also admiring the view. 

“Do you think they will be back tonight?” she pondered out loud, snapping Fergus to attention. 

“My lady! My apologies, I did not see you there!” He stammered out quickly, hoping that he addressed her in the proper manner; lest he get another tongue lashing on etiquette should his mother hear of it. 

Fergus needn’t have worried; Delilah waved away his formality with a slight smile. She looked him up and down, seeming to take in every detail of him before proclaiming, “You’ve grown since we were last here.” 

“A couple years will do that to you,” he shrugged in response, all formality forgotten.

            She turned and looked out over the battlements, sighing. Fergus watched her closely, she had changed since he’d last seen her herself. Pigtails were replaced by an elaborate bun tied at the nape of her neck, mud was replaced by the lightest touch of makeup to her face and the dress that she wore had begun to fill out with her first blooms of womanhood. A blush crept onto Fergus’ cheeks. He did not like to think of her as anything other than Nathaniel’s big sister; up until a few days ago, that’s all she was, that was all she _should_ still be. His hormonal head seemed to swim with excuses to explain why all he could think of was how pretty she looked, but he could not come up with a reasonable argument. Great. 

The night of the Howe’s arrival, long after he was supposed to be in bed, Fergus found himself curled up in the upstairs alcove of the library when his father and Rendon Howe entered the room, brandies in hand and each taking a plush seat next to the roaring fire. He snuffed his candle out to avoid alerting them to his presence and planned on sneaking off to bed. Father had caught him hiding amongst the books in the very early hours of the morning before and had simply chuckled and given him a playful clip around the ear and strict instruction to “not let Mother catch you up at this hour!” Rendon Howe seemed quite stern and for some reason, Fergus often felt that his father behaved differently towards him and the twins when he was there, so he doubted that his punishment would be as lenient this time. He was about to push his book under the shelf and sneak back through the upper level door when his own name caught his ear. In a split second his stomach felt as though it was filled with lead fear and the moment seemed to last for a lifetime. Had Father seen him when he entered? He held his breath and waited. The low hum of conversation continued and his breath whispered out of him. They were talking about him, not to him. _Wait, what?_ His mind raced, _what did they just say?_ Pushing himself as close to the bannisters as he could, he lay himself down on his stomach and eavesdropped. 

“… create a formal alliance to our years of friendship,” Howe could be heard, his voice as smooth as his brandy. 

“A formal alliance was never in doubt, old friend. But the twins are still so young and Fergus is well, Fergus,” his father responded with a smile evident in his voice. 

 _What the hell is_ that _supposed to mean?!_

Howe snorted in response, “all young men are stubborn at that age. Maker knows that Nathanial is insufferable whenever I bring up the subject of betrothals. For a while I was honestly wondering whether he was interested in men. Can you imagine?! My eldest son?” 

“Is he?” Replied Father. 

“Thank the Maker, no! A fortnight ago Delilah spoke to her mother about Talia, her handmaiden. My daughter has developed a close friendship with the little knife ears and she confided to her that all of her undergarments were going missing. Delilah, being the hero of the elven servants that she is,” Fergus could almost see the sarcastic smirk on Howe’s face, “went to her mother to report a thief in the keep. The missing knickers were found under Nathanial’s pillow a week later.” 

Fergus had to bite his tongue and hold his mouth tightly with both hands to keep himself from snorting out loud. _Nate, you pervert!_ This would be perfect blackmail at some point! 

Bryce Cousland did not hold back and howled with laughter in response, “Brilliant!” 

“Delilah didn’t think so,” Howe laughed back with equal vigour, “Nathanial ended up with a tanned arse but I couldn’t stay angry for long. At least the boy was showing an interest in girls, which is normal for a lad of his age.” 

Father grunted in response and took a long swill of his brandy. 

“To tell you the truth, I thought that it would make the process much easier to choose a bride for him when he comes of age. When I raised the subject with him, I wound up on the receiving end of his new found attitude. He knows to never speak to me that way again, mind you. As it stands though, I see no rush to make any formal arrangements for him. He’s still a boy and needs to become a man first,” Howe finished, sounding surprisingly genuine. 

“Then why do you seem so eager for me to make formal arrangements for my own son?” Father replied, with equally genuine curiosity. 

Howe sighed and rubbed his brow, “Delilah is just becoming a woman. She will soon need the security of a betrothal. Tell me, Bryce, what better way to unite our houses? Your son will one day be Teryn of Highever, and my daughter will become a Cousland, and share the name of some of my closest friends. Fergus is a good lad, an honourable lad; would you want anything else for your own daughter?” 

Father paused and thought for a moment. Fergus had never really thought of marriage before. Of course he knew that one day he would be required to take a wife and carry on the Cousland bloodline, but whenever he imagined her, she was always a faceless, nameless woman holding a faceless, nameless baby. With Delilah it would be different, he knew her. 

After a while, Bryce exhaled, “I have not even spoken to my son about betrothal formally yet.” 

“Informally, then, Bryce,” Howe urged, “It is merely an arrangement between two old men wanting what is best for their children. You need not make a decision tonight; the boy still has some time before he comes of age.” 

“Suppose I agree, then what?” 

“Like I say, we are just two old men, getting drunk and discussing our children’s futures. We need not drag the two of them to the Chantry tomorrow. I will bring Delilah with me whenever I visit and allow the children to become better acquainted and then we make it official when they come of age.” 

“Good, I do not wish to tell Fergus yet. You’re right, he is a good lad and he knows his duty. But he’s still so young; he doesn’t need to know yet,” Bryce paused, as though choosing his next words very carefully. “You were betrothed to Eliane when you were both still children, weren’t you?”

 Howe’s face flashed the slightest glimpse of annoyance before he composed himself, whether it was because he had understood Father’s implied meaning or something else, Fergus could not tell from his vantage point. “Yes, we were no older than Fergus is now. I know what you’re not saying, Bryce. Do you honestly think that I would force my own daughter into a marriage as miserable as my own, irrespective of age?” 

That revelation had taken Fergus by surprise, but Bryce did not flinch. He had known for some time that Rendon and Eliane were unhappy. Bryce believed that his friend had come to resent his wife before they had even met, which subsequently led to a lifetime of bitterness. He sighed, as much as his friend hated his wife, he knew that he loved his daughter and only wanted the best for her. “Very well, I accept, but only on the condition that they do not know yet. Allow them to be children for a little while longer. Fergus would only object and do everything possible to avoid it, which would inevitably make his marriage dreadful. No, he’s too stubborn to take the arrangement seriously yet.” 

            Fergus barely registered the men clinking their glasses and returning to the polite hum of their conversation. He was to marry Delilah. In part, he had expected himself to be appalled at the idea, as his father had so bluntly expected of him. Perhaps he was, deep down. However, his own feelings seemed to be automatically pushed to one side swiftly by his own subconscious. How would Delilah feel about this? He could barely remember speaking more than a few words to her at any given time in the last few years. By the Maker, up until two years ago he had genuinely believed that all girls that weren’t directly related to him carried some horrific, flesh eating disease that could be spread through conversation. How would Delilah feel about marrying somebody as immature as that? His head buzzed with thoughts of duty and honour as he crept back to his chambers to bed, wishing that he was still none the wiser.           

            Since listening in on his father and Arl Howe a few nights prior, Fergus had thought of little else. While it may not have clicked into place for a while, it had surprised him how much his father’s words had stung. He had expected him to behave like a child and be unwilling to do his duty. Although he didn’t have the best track record of doing what was expected of him, and Arl Howe had told his father how Nathaniel had reacted to similar propositions, he could understand his father’s scepticism. But that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to make his father proud, especially with something as important as this. Despite feeling nearly frantic with worry about the whereabouts of his younger siblings, he was glad to have bumped into Delilah up on the battlements. A thought had crossed his mind just as he’d fallen asleep the night before, what if he could woo her and then suggest the match himself before his father did? Surely the Teryn of Highever would see how resourceful his eldest son is and offer praise and pride at such a grown up decision. Then maybe he would be treated like a man, not a child. 

“If we rode to the bottom of the hills we may see them,” Fergus blurted out, “I mean, umm, that is if you want to?” 

Delilah turned to face him, her eyes twinkling slightly, “Oh? You know where they would be?” 

“I went on the hunt last year,” he lied, “it wasn’t my type of thing, but I know where they’re heading.” _What are you doing?!_

“Why not?” 

“Oh I… well… I prefer to fight something that can fight back. I feel more of a victory that way. Rather than slaughtering a wild farm animal. I prefer to fight men.” _Maker’s balls, Fergus, what the actual_ hell _are you doing?!_

Delilah’s eyes shone with amusement and, Fergus hoped, excitement. He gulped, as though his mouth was wet and his palms dry, rather than the other way around. Why was he so nervous? And why was he bullshitting? They had grown up together; she probably knew that he had never been _allowed_ to attend a hunt. 

“Alright, let’s go,” she said, smiling. 

“What?” 

“Come on, you suggested it! I’ve never been allowed to watch before; I want to see what happens.” 

Fergus couldn’t believe it, he searched her face, unsure what he would find; signs that she was having him on, but no, nothing. Her eyebrow quirked upwards, slightly amused, and it dawned on him the irony of what he was doing. He was trying to impress a girl and earn his father’s approval by directly disobeying his orders. It didn’t matter; he’d make sure they did a lap of the castle before setting off into the woods to bring the twins back to the watchful eye of Nan. He did have the luxury of being the most trusted sibling, after all, what would be the point in not using it to his advantage once in a while? Today would be a good day, and he wouldn’t get in trouble at all. 

 

* * *

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

 

            Elise watched Thomas and Oscar spar with sticks in the clearing. She had been firmly instructed to sit on the log and to not interfere while they fought and she was not particularly impressed with her brother for issuing the instruction. Oscar had wanted to pretend that they were Grey Wardens fighting darkspawn, Thomas, as usual wanted to go back to the castle to the safety of his mother’s skirts. Elise had wanted to climb to the top of the highest tree they could find, or explore the darkest cave and build a fort for themselves; but of course nobody had asked her. The boys had argued over what do to, when Oscar suggested they fight for it and the winner gets to choose. Again, Elise had not been included in this, and she was not happy. Still, if she had a choice, she would rather play Grey Wardens. Not that she’d get a choice, mind you, Oscar always pulled the age card and he would never let her win an argument. He was the older twin, by a whole twenty minutes. Thomas was also bigger than both of them, and used his size to support Oscar against her. What could she do? She was just a little girl, and seen as nothing more than an annoyance to the boys, still they depended on her to sneak them out of the castle so they tolerated her; sort of.

            _If I was a boy, I’d be both the strongest and the smartest out of both of them,_ she thought, _and then we’d see who calls the shots_. She hummed a tune in her head and continued to watch them. Thomas was going to lose. Because of his size, he was slower than Oscar, who looked as though he would still only grasp victory by the skin of his teeth. He held his stick up high with both hands as though it were a greatsword, but it did not have the length and weight to compensate for the openings he was leaving in his defences.

            She may complain about him, but Oscar wasn’t a bad brother, he just liked to show off in front of his friend. That’s why Elise agreed to keep her mouth shut; things would be back to usual as soon as the Howes left. She continued to hum to herself, watching as Thomas slowly became more and more slow. The wind came in quickly, making any sweat left on her person from the play earlier on stick to her in a frozen mist. She hoped the boys would settle their fight soon; she wanted to _do_ something, anything. Well, anything besides going back to the castle; she had worked too hard distracting the guards so that they could sneak out in the first place. As if the Maker himself had heard her thoughts, she watched as Thomas leapt backwards to avoid a blow from Oscar’s stick, only to find himself slipping backwards from a muddy puddle. Oscar did not miss a beat and forced himself forward, barrelling into the larger lad, knocking him to the ground and holding his stick to his throat. Finally. 

“Cheat!” Thomas cried out as he quickly stood. 

“Here we go again,” she sighed, getting up from her log. 

“Shut up! If he didn’t cheat I would’ve won.” 

“No you wouldn’t, Tom, you don’t pay enough attention to where your feet are,” Oscar replied smugly. 

“I would. And you can wipe that stupid look off your ugly face, you’re only here because nobody likes you enough to play with you back at the castle,” he turned on Elise with as much venom in his voice as he could muster, which wasn’t much considering his face was flushed red and tears of frustration were forming in his eyes. 

“Elise, don’t,” Oscar warned, it was too late. 

“Say that again,” Elise squared up to the larger boy. “Go on, I dare you.” Thomas stepped back in surprise, big mistake. “If you have a problem with me then I just won’t come next time. Let’s see how far out of the castle you get without me,” she paused thoughtfully for a moment, taking in his reaction before smiling smugly herself. “Then again, that’s probably what you want isn’t it? An excuse to stay with your Mummy.” 

“Ellie…” Oscar stepped closer. 

She ignored him and continued. “I may be a girl, but I’m stronger than my brother _and_ if I fight, I win. Don’t start something that you won’t be able to finish, Thomas. And I won’t have to tell everybody that you lost to a girl in a dress.”

“Leave it, Tom. Let’s just go and play,” Oscar put his hand on his friend’s elbow and pulled him away, giving Elise a reassuring nod. Thomas was still snuffling back tears, but she knew she had won. 

“Alright then, boys!” Elise clapped her hands together, conflict forgotten, “let’s go and explore the cave up the hill.” 

“I won the fight, sister! It’s my decision what we play!” Oscar snapped back. Thomas flashed Elise a smirk. 

Elise rolled her eyes and smiled, “Oh, I forgot to mention; the cave’s full of darkspawn. We need some brave Grey Warden’s to save the princess whose held prisoner there.” 

“We can save her!” Oscar cried, his grin spread across his face as he raised his stick above his head and took off running up the hill, Thomas following closely behind. 

            Elise walked behind them, seeing no reason to race them. Only she knew where the cave was up here, since sneaking a glance at her Father’s maps the day before. It was a safe assumption then when she spotted the boys waiting for her at the top of the hill that they had realised only she knew the way. They followed her impatiently, having wasted enough play time arguing in the first place. Her calves burned with the exertion of walking uphill and her breaths seemed to shoot sharply through her nose, setting her senses alight with smells of the winter forest. It was so good to be out of the castle for a while. When she was out, walking and playing, she felt more like a child than she ever did indoors. 

            At last, the children came to what could only be described as an oversized rabbit hole leading into the hill. The entrance was nearly concealed completely with the same dense undergrowth that seemed to hug the trunks of the conifer trees that scattered the area. Stones and pebbles had been stacked against the outer edges, whether they had come to be there naturally or not did not matter, Elise and Oscar made short work of tearing them down to look inside. The walls of a large chamber could be made out against the darkness of the room.

“Wow…” Elise gasped, lowering her legs into the hole. 

“You’re actually going in?!” Thomas exclaimed. 

“You’re not?” Oscar asked, turning to Thomas. 

“You don’t know what’s down there!” 

“Great, isn’t it? It could have been hundreds of years since anybody was down here,” Elise said, disappearing downwards until only her humming could be heard.

“She’s right, come on, Tom. It’ll be like an adventure,” Oscar coaxed.

“I don’t like this, Oscar. Anything could be down there,” Thomas moaned.

“Anything could be out here, in the forest. An assassin could slip into the castle at night. If we die, let’s at least have fun first,” said Oscar.

“Yeah because that’s convincing,” Thomas spat sarcastically. 

Oscar shrugged, “fine, don’t come then. Stay out here alone while we go have an adventure.” With his parting words, Oscar swung his legs into the cave and lowered himself to the ground, with no intention of waiting for his reply, confident that Thomas would follow shortly. 

“Sister?”

            Oscar’s call could be heard from the chamber that Elise had found herself in. A strange presence had washed itself over her and she felt vulnerable all of a sudden and found herself grateful for her brother’s call. At least he was nearby. The cave was unlike anything she’d ever seen or heard of before. While the ancient musk of the chamber still remained in the room, the smell of something fresh and foul hung like toxic smog in the air, nearly suffocating her. The chamber was dimly lit with sconces emitting a strange blue light. Footsteps could be heard approaching her from behind and for a moment, she froze in fear, not daring to look back, despite near certainty that it was only her twin approaching. She began to hum again, the vibrations in her throat comforting her and coaxing her to explore further. As the young girl wandered through the chamber, the song in her head that she had found herself humming was steadily becoming louder and louder. Slowly, she began to close the space between herself and the wall furthest away from the entrance, unsure as to why she was heading there.

“Where are you going?” Oscar called from the entrance.

            Elise muttered something in response, hoping that it made sense. There was something over here that she needed to see, she could feel it in her bones. It wasn’t until she was within a few feet of the far wall that she noticed the crack running along it. It was no more than two hand spans wide and barely reached her shoulder in height. Whatever force had brought her to this part of the chamber seemed to urge her small body forward, through the crack and into the room.

“Sister!”

            Stepping through the gap, Elise drank in the sight before her. The room was tiny in comparison to the previous and she saw no obvious other entrance. A thick crack in the roof allowed sunlight to flood in and she wondered for a moment how nobody had found this place before. She followed the ray of sunlight across the room, past the clumps of moss and weeds hanging limply from the walls until her eyes finally came to rest on something beautiful, yet alien to the cave. A mirror.

“Elise, why didn’t you wait… for… me… wow,” Oscar muttered as he entered through the crack as well, clearly drinking in the same breath taking sight as her. 

            Elise found herself dead in front of the mirror, her eyes glazed over as she searched for her own reflection, but to no avail. It was hard to describe, she could only compare it to looking into a watery puddle of mud, in theory she should be able to see herself, it was shiny enough; but for some reason she just couldn’t. She turned to look at her brother, but her face was frozen to the mirror. Panic quickly set in, she opened her mouth but no sound escaped from her lips, though whether fear caused it or something more sinister, she could not tell. Trembling hands reached up to touch the glass, maybe she could push herself backwards and break the spell. But as her fingers touched the glass, the mirror rippled out and her hands began to be swallowed by the mirror. The harder she pulled back, the further the mirror sucked her in.

“Brother! Help! I can’t move!” She choked out. Oscar’s hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her backwards, but he wasn’t strong enough. “Please, help me.”

“I’ve got you! I’m not letting you go,” Oscar snapped, moving to her shoulders as she was pulled further and further into the mirror.

His fingers dug deep into her flesh, causing her to cry out in pain. He didn’t have tight enough hold of her, and he soon found himself to be pinching her by her skin, then only the sleeves of her dress.

“Oscar, I’m falling! Please! I don’t want to die! Please don’t let me die,” Elise sobbed.

            Oscar pulled back as hard as he could. Then, horror set in as he heard a mighty rip and was flung backwards. He looked at his hands and saw, stomach sinking with fear, that he only had left a handful of her blue velvet dress.

“Ellie! No!” He cried, scrambling back to his feet and running at the mirror. He could still make it, part of her dress and the end of her blonde braid could still be seen. He just had to run a little faster.

It was too late. She was gone. Oscar did not slow down and flung himself at the mirror, but he was not met with the same soft ripples as she. The mirror shattered under his weight. He cried out in pain as the glass dug into his skin, but it did not stop him. He hit and kicked at the empty frame until he felt his arms grow numb and his legs burn. She was really gone. Oscar fell to his knees amongst the broken glass and did the only thing he could do; he screamed as loud as he could, before breaking down into thick, trembling sobs.

 

* * *

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

            The children’s screams reached Fergus and sank his stomach with dread. At that moment, he knew that something was dreadfully wrong. He just didn’t realise how bad it actually was, and how that day would change his families lives.  

 

 

 


	2. Bramley Apple Pie Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elise Cousland isn't like other nobles. After spending most of her life away from Fereldan, she returns to a family she once lost in a world she had forgotten years ago. How does a woman from a different world adapt to becoming one of three people who can save it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might seem a bit irrelevant compared to the last chapter, but I promise, there is a reason for this being here. Plus there's a lot of background that I want to cover before I really get into the "meat" of the game and this chapter covers nearly all of it.

**9:15 Dragon**

Highever Castle was in mourning. The youngest child and only daughter of the Eleanor Cousland was gone. Her little girl. Her baby. Gone. As a mother, she did not know what to do with herself, wanting nothing more than to bury herself in her chambers and to not come out again until she was told that her baby girl was alive and well and that it had all been a big mistake. It was still possible, no body had been found and it had only been a fortnight since Bryce had found Oscar and Fergus in tears in the cave. Since then, virtually the whole garrison of Highever Castle had been scouring the hills looking for Elise. Arl Howe had even sent his men out to assist in the search, insisting that his own son was there at the time of her disappearance, which made his family equally responsible with searching. However, after a number of days Bryce suggested that Howe recall his men in order for him and his family to return to Amaranthine. Eleanor had been appalled at the suggestion; they needed everybody in the forest searching for her child!  
Part of her understood his reasoning; she just did not want to admit it. It had been a full two weeks since her disappearance and the Howes had been due to leave over a week ago. More so, and she felt shame creep to her face at even the thought of it, but how likely was she to even be alive after two weeks? Anything could have happened out there. 

“No” she said out loud to nobody in particular.

She could not afford to think like that. Elise was alive, she just knew it. As a mother, she would take all the time needed and spend every resource to her disposal to find her daughter. But as Teryna, she knew she would not have that luxury. Of course her family would be granted a period to mourn, that would be understandable. However, soon she would be required to return to her duties and to successfully manage the household. At this moment however, that future seemed bleak. It was a future where her little girl was expected to not be present for. Eleanor Cousland had no intention of living that future. Elise was alive and she was determined to find her, no matter the cost. 

 

**9:21 Dragon**

Fergus was panicking and he had no idea what to do. Delilah was crying. A girl was crying. Right next to him! Shit. Was he supposed to hug her or something? Probably not. He was nearly a hundred percent certain that he was to blame so she probably wouldn’t appreciate him touching her right now. 

He had to do _something_ though. She was full on ugly crying. Oh, Maker! Did he really just say she was ugly? Even in his head! Shit shit shit. Why was this so difficult? He knew that he needed to say something; they would be going into the main hall soon to address the nobles. Delilah wasn’t really ugly, but the rivers of tears certainly marred her usual tidiness. Although her dark hair had been pulled back into a smooth knot, as was her usual style, her bangs had fallen around her face and had stuck to the streams of salty tears, giving her a wild look. Combined with the puffy face and damp dress, it was clear to see that she was upset and therefore was not presentable to the courts. 

He felt so callous thinking about how she looked in this way. However, knowing that they were about to go into the main hall of his castle and to formally announce their betrothal to the nobles of Highever and Amaranthine; well, if the bride to be is in floods of tears, what would that say about the future Teryn? If he cannot keep his wife happy before they are even married, how can he ensure the happiness and prosperity of his people? Would they think him cruel and callous? For this one moment, he felt justified in thinking so selfishly.

“I would look after you, Delilah. You know that, don’t you?” He finally spoke up, his voice coming out meekly.

“I know, Fergus,” she replied, her voice cracking.

“I would never dishonour you, or mistreat you. I’ll be a good husband.”

“I know, Fergus. It isn’t that,” she sniffed.

“Then what? I don’t understand,” he confessed. He honestly didn’t. The news that the two of them were betrothed wasn’t unexpected or new. Definitely not to him and he strongly suspected that Delilah had an inkling even before they were told three years prior. 

Fergus clearly remembered that day. The two youngsters had been invited to Arl Howe’s private sitting room, alongside Bryce Cousland, not long after Delilah reached her sixteenth year. Her expression remained neutral, as though her father had told her that it would rain that evening. Fergus hadn’t expected her to jump for joy, but he was surprised that there was just nothing. Over the past six years, since listening in on the conversation in the library, Fergus had tried his utmost to woo her. Nothing seemed to worked and a lot of the time, he despaired and felt that he would never win her heart. Many times, he genuinely believed that Oscar, having just started to become a young man, was more successful with the fairer sex. How embarrassing. Still, his efforts hadn’t been for nothing and over the years himself and Delilah had built up a strong friendship. Which, as far as Fergus was concerned, would still put them in good stead for some happiness later in life. They may not have found true love with each other, but there were worse people to be tied to. 

“I’m just a little emotional. Nothing to worry about,” she sighed, brushing the loose strands of hair back with her fingers and tucking them behind her ears. The strand on her left escaped again. She’d stopped crying, but her face was still red. For a moment Fergus thought back to that moment in the sitting room; was her response carefully practiced to mask how she truly felt? Is that why she is reacting this way now? 

“You’re a really bad liar,” Fergus said, trying to lighten the mood with a small smile.

“I am not!” she snorted and paused, before allowing herself to return the smile, “I’ve been practicing.” Her face lit up with a smirk, the same that they had shared on many occasions beforehand. She dabbed at her face with a little cotton puff and the redness of her cheeks started to melt away.

Fergus snorted, “You can’t tell.” 

He quickly ducked as she threw the cotton puff at him, her lips tugging upwards. It landed somewhere behind him. Fergus stood and moved closer to her, aware that time was ticking on. He didn’t want to remind her, not after seeing the Delilah he knew shine through for that moment, but he knew that that wasn’t an option. 

“Are you ready?” he asked softly.

Her smile faded and she let out a long sigh. For a moment, he thought that she would say something, he knew that she was holding back and that there were things that she was leaving unsaid. It made him feel uncomfortable. But he trusted Delilah and knew that she would confide in him when she was ready, as she always had. She gave the smallest of nods and tugged on her sleeves. Without fully understanding why, in one move, Fergus closed the space between them and tucked the stray strand of hair back behind her ear. As he cupped her face, he leant in and kissed her briefly on the lips. Delilah tensed under his touch and he did not know whether he had made a mistake, but it was too late. He pulled away and searched her eyes for something, anything. He was saddened to see that again, her face had been transformed into an unreadable mask. _Well, shit. You’ve probably gone and ruined a perfectly good friendship. Fergus, what were you thinking?!_

“I… I… Umm…” Deliliah muttered, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered.

“No, no, it’s fine,” she said ruefully, “when we’re married we’ll have to get used to it, I suppose.” A small sad smile formed from her lips.

Fergus sighed, wishing that he could make better whatever was bothering her, “Delilah, listen. I know that this probably isn’t what you’ve imagined all your life. All I want is for us to be happy and I am already, knowing that I’m marrying somebody that I know and that is my friend. I don’t know what will make you happy, but I have a long time to figure it out and I want to spend that time giving you the life you deserve,” Fergus didn’t know where this was coming from but he realised that he meant it, “will you give me a chance?”

Delilah looked as though she might cry again, though from happiness or sadness, Fergus couldn’t tell, “of course.”

He laced his fingers with hers and offered a reassuring smile, realising that she needed to borrow his strength to get through the night, “let’s get this over with then.”

 

**9:25 Dragon**

Over the years Bryce had come to realise that he had a number of tells that made his mood fairly obvious, no matter how hard he might try to disguise it. Judging by the discomfort of the Antivan woman sat in front of him, this was clearly one of those moments. The woman, who Fergus had introduced as Oriana, shifted nervously under Bryce’s scrutiny and tugged nervously at her dress, which was already pulled tightly over her stomach, revealing the early stages of her pregnancy. 

Bryce could feel himself biting his words back, attempting to give himself a few more minutes to form a diplomatic sentence. His son had only gone to Antiva in the first place to secure three bloody ships. How had this happened? Fergus broke into his father’s trail of thought only a moment later.

“Father, say something.”

Bryce looked his eldest son square in the eyes. It was not often that he felt true anger. Looking at him, he could see no malice in Fergus’ eyes, no ill intent. No; it was clear to him that this was purely his son’s flight of fancy. Something as out of character for duty-devoted Fergus had truly knocked him sideways. 

“My Lady, perhaps you could excuse my son and I for a moment,” Bryce commanded softly, glancing at the Antivan woman. 

Oriana nodded and stood to leave, her hand resting protectively on her small bump. Fergus lightly grazed his fingers along her wrist, causing her to stop and wait for him.  
“No, Father. Oriana is my wife now, I would have you speak to both of us.”

Bryce took a sharp intake of breath, then slowly exhaled. Had Fergus really just said that?! Eleanor Cousland cleared her throat from the corner of the room and for a moment, Bryce felt guilty for forgetting that she was also present for this conversation.

“Oriana, perhaps you could join me in the lounge for a cold drink? Maker knows that I suffered in this heat when I was carrying my little ones,” she spoke up.

“Yes, My Lady. That sounds refreshing,” Oriana breathed a very noticeable sigh of relief. 

“You don’t need to leave, love,” Fergus addressed her, shooting a pointed glare at his mother.

“It’s fine, Fergus, stop fussing,” Oriana smiled at her new husband and left the room, closely followed by Eleanor, who rested her hand protectively on the Antivan’s shoulder. 

Bryce watched the two women leave. As the heavy door clicked back into place behind them, he turned back to his son, who was sat awkwardly with his head in his hand, supported by an elbow which dug into his knee. Finally, a chance to talk.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?!” Bryce snapped.

“What?”

“Don’t give me that, Fergus, you know damn well what! I sent you to Antiva to acquire three ships. You return after over a year with only a few letters with only one ship and a bloody wife!”

Fergus visibly flinched under Bryce’s scrutiny, but he had trouble caring for the boys feelings.

“You had a responsibility. Not only to Highever, but to this family, Fergus. I had thought that you understood that,” Bryce fumed on, “this is the sort of shit that I would have expected from Oscar, never from you.” He realised as soon as he’d said it that he honestly meant it. While he knew that it was not good that he was impassively expecting his youngest son to be irresponsible and to father a few bastards, he also knew that it was as much to do with Fergus’ personality as his brother’s. He had spent most of his childhood desperately seeking his father’s approval and praise. At times Bryce wondered whether he had been too hard on him and other times, like now, he wondered whether he hadn’t been hard enough. 

“Wow, poor Oscar. Not the golden boy anymore?” Fergus retorted, Bryce was taken aback.

“You know exactly what I meant by that. You’ve never been afraid of or rejected any of this responsibility before.”

“Perhaps I decided that I no longer wanted it,” Fergus sighed.

“You’re joking, aren’t you? You’re a grown man, Fergus. You had your whole childhood to rebel but you chose not to. Like it or not you were born a Cousland and you must behave as such. That means not doing whatever you damn well please whenever you bloody feel like it. Which, I’m sorry, includes flights of fancy with pretty Antivan girls. Especially not when you’re betrothed to somebody else; the daughter of our closest allies, I will add.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Please, Fergus, I don’t want to know the details,” Bryce gave a small sigh and tried softening his tone. “I’m sure that you thought you would be doing the honourable thing by marrying the woman that you got with child. But son, you do not have that luxury. I honestly cannot stress that enough.”

“I think you’ve made your point quite clear.”

The silence that passed between the two men seemed to last an age. Bryce shook his head. What were they going to do about this mess? Finally, Fergus spoke up, although somewhat reluctantly.

“You know what? You’re right, Father. But only in as much as this wasn’t your plan. Before you say anything else let me say that had this been your idea, you would be beaming with pride at how perfectly things had fallen into place.” That got Bryce’s attention. “How many times have you told me that Highever requires a fleet? Our forces are the first to be called upon in the event of war and, as the Northern coastal Terynir, we must be prepared. How often have you told me that?”

Bryce snorted at the irony, “I seem to remember mentioning it to you recently,” he grumbled through gritted teeth.

“Okay! Keep that in mind then, Father,” a smirk crept onto Fergus’ face as he snapped the word Father, “during my time in Antiva, I was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of Lord Morell of Calabria, and he permitted me to stay at his estate as an honoured guest. Of course this was after I had discovered that he was the man who designed Queen Asha’s fleet; which, I’m sure you’ll agree is arguable one of the most renowned naval forces in Thedas.”

“Where are you going with this, Fergus?”

“Oriana is his daughter. After talking to both Lord Morrell and Oriana, I realised that we would be a better match politically than me and Delilah, when the Howe’s are already our allies,” Fergus explained.

“How so?” Bryce felt genuinely curious.

“Well you’ve said yourself that our naval force is lacking. If we can provide men, then Lord Morell will provide our vessels,” Fergus paused and smiled at his father. “All thirty of them.”

“Thirty?!”

“Thirty ships, to be delivered to Highever as soon as Oriana bears a son who will become my heir. And… well… I’m working on that front. The fact that Oriana is the single most incredible woman I have ever met made the arrangements a lot easier,” Fergus grinned sheepishly.

Bryce had to concede that his son had actually made a fine arrangement and he felt surprised in himself that as his anger dissipated, it was replaced with pride for his eldest son. He had to agree, if he had come up with the arrangement himself, he would have considered it a fine match. The Couslands had few ties to Antiva and it could not hurt to have allies across the Waking Sea. They also desperately required the ships that were promised. It also helped that Fergus was clearly smitten with the young woman and seemed… happy. 

Bryce sighed, there was just one problem. “What about Delilah Howe? Her father is one of my closest friends.”

“I thought about that as well,” he responded by pulling a letter out of his pocket. The wax had been broken through the centre and had begun to chip away from the edges, hinting that it had been open for some time.  
Bryce took it and unfolded the letter sceptically.

_Dear Fergus,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_How is Antiva? Fereldan is so cold now, I can’t tell you how jealous I am of you enjoying the heat. I bet even in winter it’s warm. This month has been unbearable and I’m looking forward to feeling my toes again!_  
_But enough about that._  
_That’s wonderful news! As your jilted bride, I should probably be angry with you. I think I’ll scream, maybe stomp my feet, I may even push the boat out and break a few priceless vases!  
Or not! You’re my friend and let’s face it; you were no happier about our engagement than I was. (No offence). You deserve to be happy and she sounds lovely. _

_My father may not take the news as well but please don’t worry about him. I have an idea about how I can make him understand. He’ll be fine in time. Maybe I can suggest myself for Prince Cailan instead?_

_Sorry, that’s a terrible joke!_

_Best wishes, my friend._

_Delilah H_

“What does she mean when she says she will make Rendon understand?” Bryce asked eventually, folding up the letter and handing it back to Fergus.

“I don’t know. But I received that letter over three moons ago. It would have taken a long time to reach Antiva. Whatever plan she had would have been put into place long ago.”

Bryce shook his head in disbelief; it seemed as though his son had attempted to smooth the situation over as much as possible. “Very well, Fergus. Let us hope that whatever plan Delilah had works, and your actions do not come back to bite us in the arse someday.”


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events leading up to that fateful day...

**Chapter Three**

**9:30 Dragon**

 

Oscar bowed forward at the hip and let his chain mail slip over his head. It thudded onto the grass with a metallic clink and he whistled out a sigh of relief at the weight coming off his shoulders. Ser Gilmore always put up a good fight and as such, sweat seemed to run down Oscar’s back and stick to his undershirt; a result of their training and exercise. It was a warm day and he could feel his throat sticking with thirst and for a moment, he hoped that the small crowd that had gathered around the fencing to watch them had a few pints of ale for them. 

Upon noticing that their training had attracted a small group of young women, Oscar gave Ser Gilmore a knowing smirk and walked towards a bucket of water in the corner of the training yard, tugging his undershirt over his broad shoulders in the meantime. He could feel Ser Gilmore rolling his eyes and scoffing at him without even having to turn around. His eyes scanned the gaggle of girls hungrily until they found his prize; Marian Locklake. She was exquisite. Quiet, petite and best of all, shy compared to the rest of her friends. Confidant girls know that most men will pay them more attention over their friends, but shy girls do not expect it. And _oh Maker_ , they appreciate the affection _so_ much more!

The bucket of water was inviting him and he plunged his hands into the cool liquid. Raising them cupped to his face he drank deeply, the coldness caressing his throat. He briefly noticed Ser Gilmore’s presence behind him and he turned to acknowledge his friend. The crowd of people had started to disperse, certain that no more training would take place today. Knowing that the knight was behind him, Oscar though better of flashing Marian one of his infamous smiles. But when he looked towards the girl and saw her beaming, he couldn’t help himself and felt a small twinge of excitement rush through him as he watched her turn scarlet and look at her feet, chewing her thumbnail. 

On noticing the exchange, Ser Gilmore spoke up, “don’t be an arse, Oscar.” He whispered, holding the younger man in place by his bicep. 

Oscar’s lip curled upward, “me? Never!” 

“I mean it. Don’t play your usual trick on Marian, she’s not like the others,” he threatened. 

“She’s… not like the others?” Oscar rolled the words over his tongue before smiling. “On that, my friend, we can _certainly_ agree.” 

“Not like that. She’s too sensitive, not the type of girl who will only go for a roll in the hay.” 

“Were you saving her for yourself?” Oscar asked. 

“I don’t _save_ girls, Oscar, no!” Ser Gilmore replied, horrified. 

“Then the standard rule of finders-fuckers applies. I saw her first, and well, you know how the saying goes,” Oscar winked, slapped Ser Gilmore on the shoulder and turned his back on the knight. 

“Oscar,” Ser Gilmore stepped forward and placed his hand back on the noble’s shoulder again. 

“Matthew, I saw her first, I’m claiming her. If you want her then you can have her later,” Oscar replied, his lips thinned out in a forced smile. 

“Fine, _My Lord_. Just watch yourself. Breaking a young girl’s heart can come back and bite you on the arse,” Ser Gilmore snapped, understanding that he was on the verge of pushing the Lordling too far. 

Oscar pulled away from the knight and began to stride towards the girls again, refusing to dignify his words with a response. Marian was staring at her feet, perfect. Of course he knew what Ser Gilmore was trying to say. He fucked pretty girls from the village and then pretended that it never happened. He would ignore them in the streets, deliberately forget their names and make them think that their night was just some sort of wild fantasy that they concocted in their pretty little heads. It was obvious to Oscar as well that Ser Gilmore was right; Marian was a lot more intelligent than the other girls. It didn’t matter though, he loved a challenge. 

“Lady Locklake, you look ravishing this morning!” Oscar greeted, dropping to his knee, taking Marian’s hand and kissing it in a way he had seen many gentlemen do before. 

“Oh, I… th-thank you, My Lord,” she stammered, her cheeks growing crimson under her curtain of pale hair. 

“Tell me, do you often come to the training yard? I confess, I have regretfully not seen you here before,” Oscar asked. 

“Well, My Lord, actually…” 

“You see, had I known that you would be here today, I would have fought for your honour,” he purred. Ser Gilmore cleared his throat loudly from behind him and Oscar shot him a death stare. 

“Oh, wow. That’s umm… wow,” she stammered. _Like shooting fish in a barrel_ , he thought dryly. 

“There are worse ways to die, My Lady. Than fighting bravely for the love and honour of a beautiful woman,” Oscar’s voice was like velvet, and one look at the girl told him that she was eating this shit up! 

“My Lord?” Ser Gilmore’s deep voice unwelcomingly cut in. 

Oscar sharply exhaled in annoyance, “Yes, Ser Gilmore.” 

“We are being watched, My Lord.” 

“I’m an attractive young man, Ser Gilmore, it’s a burden that I must endure.” 

“Not like that,” Ser Gilmore snapped, “over there.” 

Oscar followed his gaze to an older man who stood leaning against the barn, at the other end of the training yard. He did not recognise him. His dark features told Oscar that he was not from Fereldan. Possibly Rivaini? The man stood nearly six feet tall, clad in light armour that, to Oscar’s surprise, looked to be made out of steel. Strapped to his back, Oscar could just about make out two dark tan hilts, either two daggers or a sword and dagger. A rogue, then. _Strange,_ he thought. The man looked far too large to be effective at subterfuge. But then again, he had not noticed him until Ser Gilmore had pointed him out. Though that may have had more to do with the beautiful creature stood in front of him. 

“It seems that we have an admirer,” he chuckled to Ser Gilmore, before turning back to the young girl, “perhaps the two of us should take a walk and leave Ser Gilmore with his friend?” 

Ser Gilmore spluttered in surprise but Oscar ignored him, listening as the words, “I would be honoured, My Lord,” fell from Marian’s beautiful lips. 

“Uncle Oscar! Uncle Oscar!” he heard being shouted from across the yard. 

“Oh for fuc… Oren!” Oscar cried out happily as the child flung himself into his arms, “where did you come from?” 

“Grandmother sent me,” he gave a toothy grin before looking down at the discarded weaponry, “can I have one?” 

“Ask your Father. What did Grandmother say?” 

“That she needs to speak to you,” he sighed, disappointed. 

“What about?” 

“She said that you’re to give me a sword,” he grinned.

 Oscar was unable to hold back his snort, “nice try.” 

“Aww!” 

“What does Grandmother need me for, Oren? I’m very busy at the moment,” he replied, flashing a quick smile at Marian. 

“She said you’d say that. She also said that she wants to talk to you _now_!” 

Oscar sighed in annoyance, “alright, Oren, I’m coming.” He turned to Marian, “My Lady, perhaps we can take that walk tonight? I would be delighted to give you a tour of Castle Cousland.” 

“I… umm…. We shall see, My Lord,” she stammered, clearly unsure. 

Oscar bowed and kissed her palm before walking away. When they were out of earshot, he turned to Ser Gilmore and whispered, “That’s how to get cock blocked by a five year old.” The knight snorted in response.

As he turned around to have one final, fleeting glance at the young girl, he couldn’t help but notice that the space next to the barn that was recently occupied by the older man was now empty. He was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was well suited to subterfuge after all.

 

The inquisitive face of Oren fell when Oscar told him that he intended on being alone with his mother. He had proven difficult to convince to leave. It seemed that the boy needed to be with him as much as possible. Not that Oscar could talk. As a child, he had admired Fergus so much that he followed him around like a lost mabari puppy whenever he felt that his brother gave him licence to, which was more often after Elise died. He doubted that it came down to anything more than Fergus taking pity on him though, rather than the two brothers having anything in common, as he liked to believe during his later childhood.  

Part of him pegged their closeness on a shared sense of loss, responsibility and grief. But he'd come to his senses early on. How could Fergus possibly feel the same amount of grief as he did? He'd only lost a little sister. Oscar had lost his twin. They had never really been apart, not even in the womb. As babies they had shared a nursery and wet nurse, sometimes even a crib. When one wouldn't settle, neither would the other until they were together. Growing up, she would sneak into his bed most nights when she thought she saw a monster in her dressing room, and he would comfort her in a way that only a brother twenty minutes older could. In return, she would take the blame for some of the stupider stunts he pulled, knowing that their father would never punish her as harshly as he'd punish his sons. Now she was not even of this world anymore. How could anybody begin to understand that level of grief? 

It must have been close to the fifteen year mark, down to the day. It was unusual for him to think of Elise unless it was that time of year, as though she had some magical hold over him to occupy his thoughts. He did his best to push her from his mind; no good would come from dwelling on her. She was dead and no amount of wishing she wasn't would bring her back.

He arrived at his mother's sitting area and rapped his knuckles across the heavy wooden door to announce his presence. When there was no response he cracked the door open and peeked in, to find the room empty. For a moment, he debated just coming back later and heading back to the training yard to see if Marian was still there. Less than a second later he realised that he would rather not make the effort and instead walked into the sitting room and threw himself down on the plush velvet suite, resting his boots on the arm rest. With both hands resting behind his head, he felt as though he could fall asleep like this. The day hadn't been particularly stressful, but what man didn't enjoy the occasional afternoon kip? It wouldn’t do then to have his mother walk in on him like this; he didn't particularly want a thick ear. She had never physically punished them as children and aside from a few smacked arses here and there, neither had father. Mother seemed to have a habit though of pinching his ear lobe when he did something particularly stupid. For an older woman who couldn’t weight more than eight or nine stone, she had the strength of a warrior in his prime.

Reluctantly, Oscar pushed himself away from the comfortable suite and used his hand to try and wipe away the muddy footprint that he had left on the armrest. He hissed a sharp breath out when it didn't work and hoped that the servants would be able to fix it before his mother noticed. Knowing that she could return at any time, he tactically arranged her scatter cushions to hide the worst of it and swiftly moved from the scene of the crime. Oscar quickly found himself leaning against his mother’s desk.

 He pulled out the ornate chair and took a seat. Perhaps Ser Gilmore had been right about Marian being different; he maybe needed to employ a new tactic. He had heard stories from the bards of love letters working their way into a woman's heart. Although he had never needed to resort to such measures before, always relying on his silver tongue, perhaps he may have more luck on paper than through his lips. Oscar rummaged through the desk drawer for a while before finding a blank piece of parchment. The words did not flow naturally from him and after only a few scribbled attempts, he found himself doodling. Swords soon met dragons and swirls became anything and everything, including male organs. It was not long before he had realised that he had used the whole piece of parchment. With no sign of his mother returning soon, he decided to continue. It was only when he turned the parchment over that he saw that it was not blank at all. He did not fully understand what he was reading at first, but slowly the pieces began to fit into place. 

_My darling girl,_

_It has been fifteen years since I lost you. I miss you every day and wonder what could have been. You may not be with our family any more, but wherever you are, I wish you all the happiness in the world._  

_I dreamed of you again two nights ago. Though my dreams never seem to be able to make up their mind about who you are now, a great warrior, an adventurer or even a chantry sister. The darker nights, I dream that you have gone to the Maker's side, but wake knowing that you are alive. A mother always knows. Two nights ago though, you were a wife and a mother, living a simple life with a fisherman and your son._

_Seeing you so happy brought such joy to my heart that I didn't wish to wake up and to again, not know where you are or the woman that you have grown into._  

 _I hope that you are safe. Word has reached us that a Blight is spreading from the South. Your father and brother are leading our forces away in the next few days to fight with the King. This needs to be finished before it spreads further. For all our sakes, I pray that they succeed._  

The paragraph below had been scribbled out by the thick inky lines of the quill. As though she had written more but changed her mind.

  _Be careful, my baby._

_All my love,_

_Mother_  

This was... For Elise. Oscar felt his cheeks flush at discovering something so private to his mother. But why had she written to his dead twin? More to the point, how did she know that she was alive? Hope threatened to flare within him but he quickly extinguished it. It was pointless to hope that she was alive. True, they had never found a body. But it had been fifteen years. The chances of a young child surviving in the wilderness for as little as a few days were remote anyway. Without help, her chances of lasting longer than a week dropped to nearly impossible. 

A thought came to him.  _Did_  Elise have help out there? By her letter, mother seemed convinced that she was alive and how else could she have survived? Had mother planned everything? Perhaps she had orchestrated the mirror by some strange blood magic, and arranged for a family to take her when she reappeared. 

He mentally scoffed at how ridiculous he sounded. All mother ever wanted was the best for all of her children. She had no reason to send one of them away in such a way that it would scare the life out of her, which even to that day, Oscar could clearly remember seeing in her eyes. Terror.  

Footsteps in the corridor caused him to stiffen, alert. The sharp clip of a raised heel told him that the footsteps belonged to a woman, so probably his mother. He quickly stuffed the letter into his trouser pocket and moved away from the desk. It wouldn't be good for him to be caught riding through her belongings. As he stood, the bolt turned on the door and Lady Cousland entered. 

"Ah, you're here, pup," she smiled.

"Where else would I be?" 

She chuckled, "I make a habit of not expecting you for at least an hour after I summon you." 

"You have Oren to thank for that. He was very insistent that I came straight away. More to the point, I don't know whether to be offended by that or not," Oscar laughed. 

"He's a good boy," she said, smiling fondly at the thought of her grandchild. 

"So? You desired my presence, mother? How may I serve?" Oscar asked with mock pretence. 

He watched as she visibly bit back a retort, keeping it behind lips that pursed into a playful smile. "Oscar..." 

"Oh it's serious now," he laughed at hearing her use his name, rather than just "pup". 

Her aged face grew serious and his laughter stopped. "Oscar, you recall our chat earlier with Lady Landra and her son, Darrien?" 

"Yes," he affirmed. 

"Tomorrow, as you are aware, your Father and Fergus will ride South to meet with the King's forces to face the blight. Two days later, when Lady Landra leaves to return to Caer Oswin, I will be returning with her for a few days. I need you to be in charge of Castle Cousland until I return." 

 _Oh shit_.

"Maker," he sighed, taken aback.  

"Pup, I would not have agreed to go if I thought that you could not cope," she soothed. 

Oscar nodded dumbly and laced his fingers behind his head, his hands resting on the leather thing that tied back his shoulder length blond hair. 

"Fergus was equally nervous about running the keep, but he was absolutely fine. You will be fine as well, son." 

"If Fergus has experience then why can he not stay and run the keep and I will lead our forces South? He's going to be Teryn anyway and I'm a better warrior than him," he argued. 

"I know, pup. Think of it from mine and your Father's point of view though. What if something happens to Fergus before Oren comes of age? Perhaps not now, but in the future? The Terynir would fall to you. In theory, you may know how to rule but not in practice. So we should start with the keep." 

Oscar opened his mouth to protest but when his mother raised her hand to silence him, he closed it again. 

"I promise, you will be fine. That is, if you can keep your mind out of your breeches for long enough." 

"Mother!"  

She chuckled in response," alright, alright, pup. Just remember that the advisors here have a wealth of knowledge at your disposal and all of them believe in you as much as we do." 

Oscar had only just noticed that she had stepped much closer to him, and that her hands were lightly resting on his shoulders. While he knew in himself that he was not particularly happy with the prospect of running the keep himself, he had to admit that he was grateful for the opportunity to do  _something_. He understood how the whole thing worked; Fergus was the heir, he was the spare. Up until now he had not done anything that a spare son would do and he had begun to worry that his parents considered sending him to the chantry. After all, it would be an effective way to at least prevent him from whoring his way through Ferelden and fathering a bastard. 

"I'm not happy about this," he sighed. 

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "I know, just remember, you will..." 

"Be fine. Yes I heard that much," he sighed. 

She laughed, "go on then, pup. Your Father asked to speak to you when I was finished with you." 

Before Oscar left the room, he fingered the letter in his pocket and briefly considered asking her about it. But he decided against it, there was always tomorrow.

 


	4. Bramley Apple Pie Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

**September 2077**

The light blasted through the cracks in her tent and attacked her senses. Soon after, she felt a familiar dull throb behind her eyes and she squeezed them tightly closed again, wishing whatever had disturbed her would just leave her and allow her to fall back into the peaceful oblivion of sleep. She had no such luck though. The sound of cicadas assaulted her ears and she pulled the shirt that she had removed earlier further over her head in an attempt to drown them out. All that she achieved, however, was move the oven that she had created from her torso to her head, and her sudden feeling of false coldness told her that she would not get back to sleep. She reached behind and groped the back of her t-shirt to find that it was soaked through with sweat, she suddenly felt disgusting. If she had more willpower, she might have forced herself off her stretcher and over to the packet of baby wipes that she had stored and to a fresh t-shirt. That was the trouble with these headaches though; they had a habit of leaving Ellie with the desire to do sweet F.A. _Please, just ten more minutes._  As her stretcher depressed with the weight of another body, she realised that she would not be able to get away with pretending to sleep for much longer. 

“Stonesy?” Greeted the dead weight, lightly shaking her by the calf. The feminine voice, distinguishable by the insufferable happy note told her that its owner was her friend and colleague, Anna. 

“Piss off,” Ellie mumbled in response. 

“Elise…” the feminine voice sang cheerfully, knowing how much Ellie despised using her full name. 

 _How can this woman be so chirpy out here?!_ “Piss. Off.” She repeated. 

“Nope, not happening! Now get your arse up, _Corporal_ Stone, before I sit on it,” Anna mockingly sneered her new rank at her. 

Ellie twisted herself round and sat up straight, “do I need to tell you to piss off for a third time, Anna?” 

“Wonderful! You _are_ alive!” she exclaimed, her chirpiness seriously beginning to grate on Ellie’s first and final nerve. 

Ellie sighed, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and index finger, “what do you want?” 

“We’ve got transport coming in fifteen minutes. There was activity at that abandoned bunker again last night. Higher up’s seem to think that they’re making explosives,” Anna’s playful face grew serious. 

Ellie shuffled to the edge of her stretcher and swung her legs over. Smiling tiredly, she asked, “think I can sit this one out?” 

“Worth asking, dude, but I think you’re kind of important.” 

“No, don’t be silly. Surely you won’t need a medic,” she stretched out the word _no_ sarcastically, still smiling hopefully. 

To her credit, as usual, Anna played along. “See that’s what I thought! I didn’t think they’d need comms either. Shame, I could do with a cheeky nap myself.” 

Ellie sighed reluctantly, “well, shit.” She moved across the room and quickly threw on a new t-shirt, not bothering to change into her sports bra. All modesty over changing in front of another person had vanished not long after she had joined the army. 

 _Another pointless mission._ There would be nothing there. At this point she was over half way through her tour and there had been seven, _seven_ , suspected explosive factories in the near vicinity. Each time they had been there had been absolutely _nothing_ there. Her gut told her that it would be exactly the same this time. 

“Are you okay? I heard you pacing last night,” Anna’s face grew concerned. 

“To tell you the truth, I’ve been better,” Ellie sighed in response. 

“Did you have nightmares again?” 

She nodded, not looking up from checking her webbing and counting her magazines. 

“Did you want to talk about it, Ells?” 

“No, I’m just tired and have a headache. Pass me my helmet?” she asked, arm outstretched. 

It was true; she had had dreadful nightmares for the last few nights. That was the reason that she had found herself in the med tent most days attempting to get a few hours sleep on the stretcher. For the most part she hadn’t been successful, only managing to get a few hours each day. She was very aware that something was wrong and that if she didn’t manage to sleep for a decent amount of time soon then she would become a liability. Out here in the middle of a war zone, well, she knew that liabilities didn’t stay for very long. 

“You have a whole med tent here. What’s the point of being a medic if you can’t enjoy some free pain killers?” Anna asked with her mischievous grin. 

“I’ve tried,” Ellie chuckled, “nothing seems to even touch the sides. Honestly though, it has only been this bad since we came out here. My money’s on it getting better when we get back to base camp and then being non-existent when we’re back in the UK.” 

“Anything I can do to help?” 

She thought for a while, “have you still got any of that chocolate left?” 

“I _knew_ you were going to ask for that!” Anna laughed. 

“Don’t worry if you don’t. I’ll survive. Maybe,” Ellie laughed. 

“Hold on, I’ll go check,” Anna said before jogging out of the med tent, her webbing clunking loudly. 

In peace, Ellie quickly raked a brush through her thick blond waves, silently vowing to cut it short after they returned from the suspected explosives factory. Back home she normally kept it tamed to just past her chin, but out here in the desert heat it had grown much faster than usual and now reached further than her collarbone. She scraped it back into a bun, knowing full well that if she and Anna were not the only females for several miles around then she would have gotten a mouthful for her unkempt appearance. Her head was throbbing by the time she had swung on her webbing and med Bergen and was finished. 

At that point, Anna opened the tent flap, clutching the beautiful purple packaging that both women knew and loved. “It’s a bit soft,” she chuckled.

“It’s chocolate, I don’t care!” Ellie laughed.

“What have you got to trade?”

“Oh, you bitch, I’m ill.”

“And I have no sympathy. Not when it comes to chocolate,” Anna chuckled.

“Samuel sent me some big packets of gummy bears. One of those take your fancy?” she asked, knowing that Anna had a love for all things sugary. 

“Done!” she cried happily, handing over four of the eight squares of partially melted chocolate that she had.

Ellie quickly put them into her mouth at once and sucked until the sweet nectar slid down her throat. It was a luxury that she rarely ever allowed herself at home. _Perfect._ As the last few morsels disappeared down her gullet, she reached into her personal pack and pulled out a full packet of sweets and quickly put another half full packet into one of her pouches.

“Did you eat that already?” asked Anna. She nodded. “Jesus, you’re like a man dying of thirst being offered a pint.”

Ellie snorted, “there’s nobody out here to tell me I shouldn’t be eating it!” 

The two women left the tent and quickly began to make their way over to the pick up point. As they walked, Ellie handed Anna her gummy bears. She felt sorry for Anna for a split second when she saw a look of disappointment flit across her face. 

“ _Fat Fighters_ gummy bears?! Seriously?! Diet gummy bears?! Who buys these?” Anna exclaimed, incredulously. 

"Samuel, apparently,” Ellie snorted. Her boyfriend. 

“Prick,” Anna muttered, storing her sweets in her backpack.

Ellie pretended that she didn’t hear her. She knew that Sam only wanted her to look and feel her best. After all, she was the one who had complained about gaining weight that one time. That’s why he always sent her healthy treats. That was also the reason why she tried to haggle _un_ healthy treats from Anna. Although she would never admit it, it did hurt when he implied that she was overweight. But she knew that she was being over-sensitive, it was just his way of trying to help her to feel good about herself. She just wished sometimes that he’d drop the subject and realise that a lot of the time it just made her feel worse.

“Ladies, nice of you to join us,” came the authorative voice of Captain Brady.

“Sorry, boss,” Ellie smiled up at him, climbing into the back of the transport and strapping herself in. As far as Officers went, Captain Brady was one of the best; fair, the type of man that made someone _want_ to earn his respect. He pushed them, but understood everybody’s limits and seemed to genuinely want to help his men overcome each of their personal obstacles. Ellie had only worked out here with him for a matter of weeks, but had already got an enormous amount of respect for the man.

The transport kicked into motion and everybody inside jutted along with it. Ellie’s head bumped inside her helmet, making the dull ache explode with pain. She just had to keep telling herself that she would be home soon, back to the cold and wind and decent healthcare. A big boot to the knee pulled her out of her train of thought and she looked up, meeting the eyes of Graham.

“Oi, Stonesy?” he greeted in his thick Scottish accent. 

“Alright?” she replied with a smile.

“Ye’ve got shit on yer face,” he said.

Ellie put her hand up to her mouth, to discover that some of the chocolate had escaped. She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment at walking across camp with brown smears covering the lower half of her face. The moment of self consciousness did not last long before her tongue darted out to clean the morsels around her mouth.

“Thayving it fow later,” she retorted, tongue still out of her mouth.

“Aye, I can see that. Great display of willpower there,” he guffawed.

“I have willpower; just ask Anna about my diet sweets.”

“It’s true. I gave up half of my last bit of chocolate for this crap,” Anna said, holding up the packet of bears and shaking her head.

“Oi, give us one,” Graham exclaimed, snatching the bag, ripping it and spilling them in the process. He still managed to keep a handful to himself and quickly shoved them into his mouth, “taste fine.”

“That doesn’t count, you’d eat road kill if you could add cheese and ketchup to it.”

“Raccoon’s my favourite,” he responded without missing a beat.

“Freak,” she jabbed playfully.

“Stones?” Captain Brady addressed Ellie.

“Yes, boss?” 

“Shut the fuck up, we can’t take you anywhere,” he laughed.

“It’s part of my charm, sir."

“As charming as you are. Shut up,” Brady quipped.

She waited until the Captain had turned around before pulling her tongue out behind his back and then booting Graham in the shin when he sniggered too loudly. The transport lurched as it crawled over uneven ground, knocking her head around in her helmet. For the twentieth time that day, she realised that she couldn’t wait to get home.

 

* * *

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 _Ser Gilmore is one smug bastard_ , Oscar seethed, _and Father is no better_. As it happened, the rogue that the two men had spied during their training the day before _was_ watching them. Oscar did not see the man that night nor the following morning, which led him to draw his own conclusions about his identity. The man’s sudden appearance, coupled with his Mother’s letter to his dead sister had led him to believe that he was some sort of messenger. Perhaps his sister was alive after all, but had been hidden out of her families reach. He had suspected it to be the case when he found the letter the day before. It was also possible that his sister _was_ dead and this man had the ability to communicate with them through the fade, but if he was from the circle, surely he should have been wearing circle robes?

It occurred to him that night that he should have been thinking about other things than the heavy plate clad rogue. The naked Marian Locklake who lay under the sheets sleeping off their evening was enough to tell him to put the encounter to the back of his mind. Their night had truly been delightful, for a virgin, she was not bad. Shame that it couldn’t happen again, Oscar always knew that it would never be as good the second time around. Besides, he knew in himself that he was angry at Ser Gilmore and knew that from that moment on, every time he saw Marian’s pretty face it would soon be replaced by Ser Gilmore’s smug grin and his Father’s patronising comfort.

That very evening, before Marian had come to his bed, he had found himself face to face with the “messenger”, alongside his Father and Arl Howe. He had introduced himself as Warden Commander Duncan. Truly, at the time he had felt flattered that such a high ranking Grey Warden had come to his home to watch them train, especially during a Blight. Of course it was no surprise to him that Duncan decided to watch Ser Gilmore and himself train. The fabled Grey Wardens only ever recruited the best, and his headstrong gut told him that he could quite easily walk into the order on one of his worst days.

“I trust that yesterday’s training proved insightful, Commander Duncan,” Oscar hinted with an arrogant smile.

“Please, My Lord, Duncan is sufficient. Yes, I believe I have found a promising new recruit. Provided Teryn Cousland is content to part with such a fine young warrior,” he replied.

Oscar felt his chest puff out in pride, he couldn’t help himself. _Fine young warrior, eh? Finally some recognition!_

“Commander Duncan, I am certain that my Father can be persuaded,” Oscar considered it. Fergus had left with their forces earlier that day and Father was due to leave with Arl Howe soon, when his forces arrive. Shortly afterwards, his Mother would depart for Caer Oswin with Lady Landra. Provided that Duncan remained in Highever until all members of his family had left, he could easily slip away with Duncan and leave the upkeep of the castle in the capable hands of Oriana. She was going to be Tyrna after all and had the skills to show for it. By the time his family would find out, he’d already be a Grey Warden and there would be nothing that they could do about it. It had to be better than staying in Highever, destined for a life of playing the second son in Fergus’ shadow.

He watched Duncan’s face and waited for him to take the hint and formally invite him to join. Or, perhaps he did not plan to yet. After all, he seemed like an intelligent man. It was likely that he wouldn’t mention anything yet. Great minds thinking alike and all that. _That must be it._

“It will be difficult to part with him, Duncan. But Ser Gilmore’s skill would serve a far better purpose defending Thedas than these old walls,” his Father spoke up. 

_What?!_

“Ser Gilmore?” Oscar asked through gritted teeth.

“The lad shows promise, I believe that he would make an excellent warden,” Duncan replied, oblivious. 

“Don’t be upset, pup. I know the two of you were close…” his Father started. 

Swallowing his pride and ignoring his Father’s question, “Commander Duncan, are you perhaps looking for more wardens?”

“We are in short supply, My Lord. With the blight looming we require all the help that we can get,” he replied.

“Then take me. You watched me fight yesterday, you saw with your own eyes that I am good, if not great. Yesterday I beat Ser Gilmore while using a sword and shield, but I favour a greatsword. I’m even better when using…” 

“Such modesty!” Arl Howe quipped. Oscar had nearly forgotten that he was there and he had to force himself not to snap at him for interrupting him.

“No,” Teryn Cousland commanded.

“If I may be so bold, My Lord, I do believe your son would be a fine candidate,” Duncan replied calmly.

“I am sorry, Duncan. We both know the life of a Warden is dangerous. My daughter was killed a number of years ago, now I have sent my eldest son to lead our forces to fight by your side. Please, do not ask me to put my other child in harm’s way also.”

“I understand, My Lord,” Duncan said, backing down immediately.

“What, so I don’t get a say in this?” Oscar fumed.

“Sorry, pup, but you are needed here at the moment.”

“Bullshit,” Oscar hissed.

“Oscar, this is the end of the discussion,” his Father tone brooked no argument.

“Fine,” it took all of Oscar’s willpower to utter that one simple word before turning on his heel and leaving the Great Hall.

As he stormed through the keep, the look his Father gave him still burning in his mind, he thought of ways to make Ser Gilmore sorry for what he had done. _This is bullshit_. He would just have to wait until everyone left and sneak out to find Duncan. There were a million ways that he could get around this, he was certain. But none of the viable options came to him. He was just leaving the courtyard when he heard a familiar voice calling his name. Ser Gilmore. He ignored him. There was nothing that he could say to him that would make him want to punch him less.

It was not until he found himself in front of Marian, simply by good fortune that he was able to calm down. That was the reason that he found himself in her bed that night, with the faces of his Father and Ser Gilmore still at the forefront of his mind. The sound of barking from the cobbled streets outside brought him back to the present. He would recognise that bark anywhere. Marian was still sound asleep, so he slipped from her sheets and began to dress himself quickly. Biff would not disturb him for just any reason and as Oscar ducked out from the small cottage that belonged to Marian’s parents, he saw the reason why. Thick black smoke seemed to rise from the turrets of Castle Cousland and the sounds of battle reached his ears.

“Biff, go and find Fergus,” he barked at his dog. Mabari were intelligent creatures, there was no doubt in his mind that the dog would be able to execute the order.

As the form of his dog disappeared into the night, Oscar turned to the castle and took off at a run. Something was very, very wrong. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

**September 2077**

 

 _Something was wrong_ , Ellie realised shortly after the transport juddered to a halt and the soldiers inside were instructed not to disembark. That fact alone was strange in itself, on the other seven missions, they had jumped from the vehicle, all guns blazing and ready to take on the world. Okay, maybe not so dramatically, but the idea was the same. But this time felt  _wrong._ Anna had always been crap at hiding her emotions, for example, and as she listened in to the instructions over her radio's headset, her face told a worrying tale. Even Graham kept his mouth shut. The Captain's nostrils flared in frustration as he looked around the transport at his men, their faces reading anything from nervous excitement to outright worry. The most irritating thing about the situation was that Anna had the only functional radio and although the walls of the vehicle were made from relatively thin armour, very little sound penetrated from outside, aside from the occasional rumbles of what Anna assumed was mortar fire.

"Is there a safe path for her? Over." Anna asked through her headset. The crackle responded. The word "her" dragged Ellie's attention to the woman in front of her.

"What do you mean, you're working on it?! You said you had a casualty. Over."

 _Shit_ , Ellie thought, _this did not sound good._  

"Rathmax, pass me the radio," Captain Brady ordered, holding out his hand and watching and Anna immediately began to untangle it from her straps and head. Another rumble in the distance reached Ellie's ears.  _This really isn't good_. 

"Ann? What's going on?" She whispered loudly.

"There's a casualty in the bunker, but nobody can get to him. The safe route that that unit plotted for us isn't safe at all, it's a minefield. They say they're working on a safe route for you but..."

"But what?" 

Anna shuddered, "there's an unidentifiable aircraft in the airspace above us. We have no idea whether it's the enemy or American. But it's big."

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Ellie prodded.

Her friend looked genuinely scared, “Yeah, apparently…”

“…wait out. Over,” Captain Brady finishing his conversation interrupted their own. “Graham, I want you to go with Stones and provide fire support if she needs it. Make sure she gets to that bunker, understood?”

“Aye, boss,” Graham nodded.

“The rest of you are with me. We have an unidentified aircraft circling us,” he paused, “we also have possible enemy sightings within the area and are expecting them to attack. I’ll be honest, this is probably one of the significantly more shit situations that we have found ourselves in. But above all else, we need to get Stones to the bunker and make sure that nobody else goes down.”

The nods of the soldiers rippled through the transport. Brady swung open the back doors to the transport and quickly surveyed the ground before jumping down to the sand. “Good. Stones, speak to this unit, see where they’ve identified the mines.”

“Yes, boss,” she replied, following him down.

Ellie didn’t wait for Graham, confident that he would be behind her in moments. She looked to the sky but could not see the aircraft that they referred to but _bloody hell_ was that sun blinding! It did absolutely nothing to ease her headache. Through painfully sore eyes, she took in her surroundings, in front of her stood the bunker. It was pretty small, probably only containing two or three rooms at most, made out of grey cinderblocks with a rough roof.

"You the medic?" Asked a voice not too far away in the distance, as its owner jogged towards her.

"Yeah, what's the status of the casualty?" She asked, sounding much more professional than she actually felt.

The man gestured for her to follow and spoke as they briskly walked towards the safe route through the mines.

"Gun shot wound to the right shoulder, we couldn't get a tourniquet around it so we had to make do with what we have. We've put a shirt against it with pressure but he needs a real dressing and evac asap."

"Where is he?" She asked. 

"In the bunker," he gestured to the squat building less than thirty metres away, "he's got some good lads in there with him, but the enemy fire has only just stopped and they've been pinned down and can't get out." 

"So if you can't get anyone out, how do I get in?"

"Private Singh is plotting a safe route for you as we speak," he reassured her. "Just worry about helping your causality, leave the rest to us."

Ellie's gaze flicked to the female soldier that he referred to. In her hands she held what Ellie could only describe as a remote control for an electric toy car. At the other end was a small robot, its scope scanning the ground in front of it detecting the land mines. The use of robotics like that within the army wasn't a new concept. In fact, as Ellie had discovered, amongst the American troops, a bomb detection robot was only scratching the surface of the levels of technology that they used. Her own army seemed to be slightly more reluctant to use that level of technology, despite the obvious advantages. Debating the finer details on the subject was way above her pay scale, but the way Ellie saw it,  if there a choice between losing a human life or a piece of technology to enemy fire or a mine, surely the persons life should come out on top every time? It was something that pissed her off from time to time, America had far fewer casualties, and she had a sneaking suspicion that it was closely related to their greater access to technology. 

"Aye, that's all well an' good. What about the bird?" Graham's thick voice spoke up behind them.

"Seems to have fucked off. Not seen it for nearly half an hour. Can’t say I’m sad though. It’s nothing like any chopper I’ve seen before," the ally soldier replied.

Ellie and Graham shared a glance; it did not make any sense, had they not just heard on the radio minutes before that a chopper had been hovering? 

The sound of guns firing in the near vicinity cut their conversation short.

"Contact!" A voice barked and Graham and Ellie hit the deck. 

The impact of the ground knocked the wind out of her, but she had no time to recover before she pushed her rifle into her shoulder and right eye to her scope to find the enemy. The rest of her unit had poured out of the transport and had positioned themselves along the edge of the vehicle, their weapons pointed towards the wasteland behind the bunker, which was lightly littered with dry, dying trees. 

"I see 'im!" Graham exclaimed, firing his rifle in the general direction of the trees. 

Ellie could not see a thing, not even a flash from a muzzle in the trees. It was beyond her how the others were able to identify their targets so easily. Women had been allowed to serve in combatant roles for a number of years, but she knew that she could never do it herself. It wasn't that she didn't think she could kill somebody. Hell, she was given a rifle for a reason and knew that if it came down to it, she probably could. The reason why she knew she could never do it was because she knew she was a crap shot. 

"Stonesy!" Graham cried, drawing her attention back to him. His helmet had fallen forward so that it nearly covered his eyes. He rested it on his scope. "Go, Stonesy, I'll cover ya!"

Ellie gave a nod in his direction and looked back to the bunker. It was maybe thirty metres away. The path that she lay on had not been checked for mines, but moving over to the safe path would take too much time. Which she did not have in abundance when somebody lay injured ahead of her. She took a deep breath and edged her way forward on her belt buckle. Her rifle was back on her back and she spread both hands out in front of her, her fingers fanned out widely. As she edged her way forward, her fingers trailed in the sand, teasing out anything that was out of place; a piece of metal, wires.

She was twenty five metres away. 

 Explosions nearby made her flinch, until she realised that one of her men had thrown a grenade into the tree line. She looked ahead of her again and pushed herself forward, focusing on the task at hand.

Twenty metres away.

The sound of a helicopter in the distance could be heard. It was approaching faster than she had thought possible, but she welcomed the idea of reinforcements. With each thrust of her body her helmet  jolted forward, making her head feel like it was being shaken around like a can of pop. 

Fifteen metres away.

Already her fingers were grubby from sliding them through the sand. The fire fight was drawing to a close, the sounds of less rounds being fired gave as much away. 

A beating sound reached her, and she thought for a split second that the chopper had arrived, before the soldiers and enemies alike were cast into shadow. She looked up, the sun was blinding. That must have been the reason she saw what could only be described as  _wings_. But that couldn't be real, there were no mammals on the planet that could engulf such a large area in shadow. 

"The fuck is that?!" Graham shouted.

 Ellie ignored him, and the shadow. She couldn't afford to get distracted, not when she was lying on a minefield.

Fourteen metres away.

She could hear the men shouting orders to each other loudly. 

Thirteen metres away. 

A deafening screech pierced the tense atmosphere and Ellie instantly pushed her hands to her ears to drown it out. _Oh Jesus, it hurts so fucking mu... What the fuck is that?!_ A blast of flames seemed to spring out amongst the tree line, destroying the enemy soldiers. It had come from the shadow before it swooped away again.

Her stomach felt as though it was lined with lead, was it only the enemy that that thing killed?! She whipped her head around faster than she should have done and locked eyes with Graham, who looked just as scared as she was.

"You okay?" She called back.

"Aye, Stonesy. What the fuck was that?" He shouted.

Ellie shrugged her shoulders in bewilderment. At least everyone looked to be alright. She chanced a glance to the sky once more before edging forward again.

Twelve metres away.

She had been so focused on identifying any explosives with her fingertips; it almost did not register when her left foot tapped against something alien and metallic.  _Oh fuck_. That was the moment that she knew she was going to die. As soon as she moved her foot, the mine that it rested on would go off, splattering her over the walls of the bunker. Her breath seemed to stop in her throat and she was certain that she could hear her heart thudding hard against her ribs. 

"Graham..." She tried to call out, but her voice only came out as a barely audible whisper. "Oh God." 

Even if she didn't move a muscle (something proving very difficult with how badly she was shaking) the mine would not last forever before going off. She had triggered it, and it would explode, there was no way around it. 

The screech above their head momentarily drew her attention away from her doom and she watched as the shadow grew larger and perched itself on the roof of the bunker. It was only when she made eye contact with the creature that she realised that she must be hallucinating. Claws and deep violet scales trailed up its body, followed by razor sharp spines. Its eyes were a toxic yellow and it had wings! Its wings must have spanned twenty metres. Except it wasn't real. It couldn't be. There couldn't be a  _dragon_  perched on top of the bunker in the middle of a war zone.

If it was a hallucination, it was a very realistic one. Ellie realised this fact as the dragon threw its head back to let out the same deafening scream before swooping low and towards her. Ellie cried out, forcing herself into a ball to try and protect herself. It was too late when she noticed that she had taken her foot away from the mine.  

She felt, rather than saw or heard the explosion from behind her. The only things she registered before her world was engulfed in shadow was the bright white flash of the mine, then her head did not hurt anymore.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

**9:30 Dragon**

Castle Cousland was nearly overrun by the time Duncan spied the Lord trying to sneak his way past the Arl's men. Young Oscar was a decent warrior for certain. Maker, he was better than decent, he wouldn't have been considering him as a Grey Warden recruit if he wasn't. But could that man sneak?! Duncan was cursing under his breath at his heavy footfalls. If he carried on then he'd bring down the entire army on their heads. 

It was when he saw the young Lord attempting the climb through his chamber window that Duncan drew the line and signalled the younger man to be quiet and to follow him. As the two men dipped themselves into the bushes, Duncan scanned the area to ensure that weren't seen.

"What in the Maker's name are you doing? Are you  _trying_  to get caught?!" Duncan hissed.

 "I could ask the same thing of you, Warden Commander," Oscar snapped back.

 "I was searching for you. The castle is surrounded. I'm amazed you've made it so far," he replied.

 Oscar ignored the barb, "where are my family?" He asked, his voice cracking in concern.

 Duncan's heart went out to him, and he immediately softened his tone. The boy was headstrong and very spoiled, but he was still young and had just found his home under attack. "Your parents are safe for the moment, My Lord." It wasn't a lie, he just chose to neglect to mention his nephew and sister in law. 

 "Where are they? Take me to them at once," Oscar demanded, like a boy used to being always given whatever he wanted.

 Duncan nodded and led the young noble through the shadows, ducking into the foliage that surrounded the castle whenever a pair of Arl Howe's men patrolled past them. He would occasionally spare a glance back to the younger man and it was after several experiences of hiding in bushes that Duncan saw the realisation appear apparent on his face. His Father's closest friend had betrayed them and attacked his family home. For what reason, Duncan could not fathom; he preferred to keep away from politics. Although the Couslands had a reputation for being fair rulers to live under, in his time he had come to realise that nobody in nobility stayed there for long without at least a little bad blood on their hands. Luckily the young man had the sense to stay quiet for once, even as the realisation dawned on his face.

They slipped through the shadows, following the east wing wall, eventually leading them to the waste chute that flowed from the kitchens, where Duncan had exited the castle from earlier. On a daily basis the chute would be used to dispose of waste food, which gathered in a compost heap at the foot of the chute, ready to feed the livestock that supplied the castle. That night, Duncan had climbed down the chute away from the pantry, slipping past the guards, but not escaping without a mass of spoiled food on his breeches. He realised as they reached the foot of the chute that it was going to be significantly more difficult to climb up than it was to climb down. It wasn't steep, fortunately, but it  _was_  slimy.

 "My Lord, this is the way I came out of the castle. Your parents are hidden in the pantry with the door barricaded. This is the only way in without drawing attention to yourself," Duncan explained, watching the younger man's face for a reaction. When Oscar's emotions remained hidden he continued, "put your back against this wall and straighten your legs against the opposite wall, you should be able to push yourself up. I'll follow you and make sure nobody sees you."

 Oscar hesitated. "How do I know I can trust you? For all I know you could be with Howe."

 "True. However, I can assure that I am not. Grey Wardens do not align themselves politically and even if we did, your Father is a friend of mine, I would not see his son come to any harm," Duncan responded calmly.

 "Politically? You think that bastard has some sort of agenda?!" Oscar snapped.

 Duncan glanced around him, conscious of the volume of the younger man's voice and their position. While they crouched against the castle wall, they were still fairly open. "It's not for me to say." He knew it was a cop out, he knew what he thought. But it was neither the appropriate time or place. 

 Sadly, Oscar seemed to disagree and Duncan cringed as his voice few louder. "No, no. I'd  _love_  to know what your opinion on my family is  _Commander_."

 "Lord Cousland, my opinion is that you get yourself up that chute to your parents before Howe's men find us or them first."

 Oscar seemed to consider this for a moment and for that short time, Duncan thought that he may have calmed down before things escalated further. He was wrong. "If it was so easy to get out and my family are in so much danger, why did you not get them out?! Eh? If my Father is such a good friend of yours, why leave him to come and find me?" 

 Duncan's patience had reached an end. He exhaled through his nose, his nostrils flaring, "enough!" He hissed as quietly as he could, "I did not want to have to tell you like this but you've left me no choice, your Father has been gravely injured. He believes that you are dead already after your Mother could not find you in your chambers," Duncan softened his tone, "I found them and brought them to safety but your Father is not going to make it, I am sorry, My Lord."

 "No..."

 "He asked for my word to get your Mother to safety, but she will not leave his side. I am hoping that you will convince her otherwise," the older man said, choosing his words carefully. He expected an argument from Oscar, but the young Lord only numbly nodded his head in shock and pressed his back against the wall inside the chute. He tensed his stomach and pushed his legs up against the opposite wall as Duncan had instructed and began to climb. The Grey Warden commander did one final sweep of the area before following him up the chute, his sword pressing slightly into his back as he pushed his weight against it.

 Upon reaching the top, Duncan was greeted with the sight of the young man holding onto his Father tightly as he sobbed. Lady Cousland squatted nearby, arrows nocked into the bow she tightly gripped, looking every part the fierce warrior that he never imagined her to be. Oscar held a rag to his Father's side, though it was already saturated with blood having only been held at his wound for a few moments. His skin was pale and waxy, his breathing laboured; Duncan realised that his old friend did not have long. 

 "I'm sorry, Father," Oscar's voice trembled. 

 "You have nothing to apologise for, pup," Teryn Cousland croaked out, his voice barely above a whisper. "It is I who should be sorry."

 "No Father, you..."

 "Please, pup. I suspected for a while that this was coming and yet I still did nothing to protect you," he whispered.

 "How could you have known?"

 "Howe does not take rejection lightly... Oriana and Fergus..." 

 "No, Bryce. Do not talk like that, darling. That happened years ago, nobody could have possibly predicted this," Eleanor Cousland spoke up, evidently appalled.

 "Eleanor, I will  _not_  blame our son for this. The fault is with me, I should have predicted that Howe would do something," the older man's voice broke as he whispered the final word of his admission.

 Duncan watched something flash on the younger man's face and he felt momentarily like a fly on the wall; an unwelcome intruder. 

 "Oriana... Oren...?" Oscar ventured.

 "Oh, my boy, I'm sorry," Eleanor uttered, fresh tears spilling down her flushed cheeks.

 "Oh Maker, no!" Oscar gasped. 

 A heavy rumbling outside the door indicated that Howe's forces were not far away from their location. As much as Duncan hated the thought of breaking up the final moments between this family, he realised that he could not hold out much longer. The scent of lyrium permeated the air; Howe had mages. The family had heard the rumbling too, the Father and son breaking apart their tight embrace. 

 "Duncan," Bryce Cousland spoke up.

 "Yes, My Lord?" 

 "Please, I beg of you. Get my wife and son to safety," he pleaded softly.

 Duncan nodded in agreement. "I will, My Lord, but I am afraid I must ask for something in return." He felt sick to his stomach for simply asking the question of a dying man, his dying friend. But there was no other way, and he realised this.

 "Anything, my friend," Bryce choked.

 "We have too few Grey Wardens in Fereldan. The need for recruits dictates that I cannot leave without a potential Grey Warden and Ser Gilmore perished in the great hall earlier. I hate to ask, but I am forced to ask for your son," Duncan forced out through gritted teeth. He felt cruel. 

 To his credit, Bryce did not act as wounded as he must have felt (no pun intended) having clearly expressed his dislike of the idea earlier. He simply nodded before agreeing, "anything, as long as justice comes to Howe, just please keep them both as safe as humanly possible."

 "No," Eleanor stated, standing to her feet.

 "I beg your pardon?" Bryce gasped.

 "Darling if I have to kill every bastard who comes through that door to buy our son time, I will. But I am  _not_  leaving you," she hissed.

 "Eleanor..." He growled weakly in response. 

 "Oscar, go. Find Fergus, warn him about what happened here," she begged, barely holding back tears. 

 "Mother..." Oscar choked, falling forward to embrace her tightly like a small child.

 Eleanor looked over her son's shoulder directly to Duncan, "look after my son, Commander."

 "I will, My Lady," he bowed his head, placing his hand lightly on Oscar's shoulder, "come on, My Lord, they are close."

 "I love you both," Oscar barely managed to sob out before allowing himself to be pulled from his Mother's grasp, away from his parents and his family home for the final time.

 

* * *

 "We will be travelling South, through the Hinterlands to the ruins of Ostagar on the edges of the Korcari Wilds. It's fitting that we make our stand there, even if we face a different foe within that forest." 

 Duncan's words had swam around Oscar's head for the whole ten days that they had been travelling for. The time had done little to curb his bitterness, but slowly it had evolved from misery to sadness and then finally to anger. And that anger burned in the pit of his stomach. Anger at Howe, for that bastard's betrayal, anger at his parents for not doing anything to stop it and for trusting him, anger at Fergus for being the straw that broke the mules back as far as Howe was concerned. Finally, and most of all, he was angry at himself. If he'd have been there that night, in his chamber, he would have probably heard the soldiers charging through the keep. He could have at least tried to stop them. Maybe then his parents would be alive, or little Oren. That poor little life, snubbed out by the orders of an old man who felt that he had to get even. 

 It had shamed Oscar to admit it at first, but as his grief began to slide to anger, he quickly pointed the finger of blame at Fergus. It was  _his_  fault that his own son was murdered. If he had only done what he had agreed to in the first place and married Delilah Howe then her bastard Father wouldn't have felt the need to save the honour of his jilted daughter. For a few days, all Oscar could think of was how he would kill Fergus himself when they finally caught up to him at Ostagar. 

 Fortunately for the elder brother, Duncan had seemed to sense the reason why Oscar was so keen to ride their mounts into the ground and had managed to talk some sense into him. Though it had taken a swift left hook to the face from the older man and the words, "you spoiled fool! Do you not realise that if you pursue this idiotic quest then you will have  _nobody_?!" Oscar finally began to realise that the older man was right, as angry as he was at him, Fergus was his only surviving family. Though that didn't make him any less mad, it certainly made him want to murder him less. 

 Though he was about to join a new "family", the Grey Wardens. Ever since he was a boy, he had wanted to be a part of the order, but now that the opportunity had fallen at his feet he did not know if he wanted it. He would trade it all back for that night to have never happened. Although that was impossible, he could still try and dream. As it stood though, he could not bring himself to entertain the thought of calling a group of strangers "brothers and sisters". The reminder was too fresh, and he could not foresee a time when it wouldn't be. 

 There would also be a time, sooner rather than later that he would need to put his anger to one side for his own sake. Duncan had already told him as much. "Being a Grey Warden is a calling greater than vengeance," he had said earlier that night. Oscar wanted to understand, he honestly did. But everything was still too raw for him. While the man had seemed insufferably unsympathetic to his situation, Duncan did provide constructive suggestions where possible and he had to admit, taking out his anger on a stray group of dark spawn that ventured close to the pair had given him sweet satisfaction for a moment. 

 The older man had also suggested that he prayed for his families souls. At first Oscar had scoffed at the idea. What good would it do? It could not bring them back. Sure, he had been raised to have been a good little Andrastian as a child, but the Maker had done nothing but take from him of late. Duncan must have suggested it to him every night before they slept, Oscar had even caught him praying himself a few times. It seemed strange to him, this man was the Commander of one of the greatest orders in Thedas, no matter how forgotten they had become over the years without a blight, and there he was each night, completely vulnerable without his weapons and armour, praying to a God that Oscar was not sure he believed in anymore. When Oscar had asked him why he did, Duncan had responded as formally as he usually did, "I have lost a dear friend of mine. It is only right to pray that he has found his place at the Maker's side."

 Duncan's answer had riled him more than he thought possible. If he was such a close friend of his Father's, why had he not met him until all of this had happened? Oscar did not like the man. Given that his Father and family had been second only to the Monarchy of Fereldan, he did not seem to even consider addressing Oscar with the respect that he was due and he found it grating on him, although he realised that there were more important issues ahead of them, he let it slide. His Father would be ashamed to watch his son treat his friends without any respect. He pushed though reciprocating thoughts of Duncan out of his head. That would go nowhere productive. 

 The thoughts of making his Father proud had led him to the Lothering Chantry that night. This was the last village before they reached the ruins of Ostagar and the last chance that he would get for a while to get away from Duncan. He wasn't sure exactly why getting away from him had brought him to the Chantry rather than the tavern, but he found himself sat comfortably on the back pew, watching a ginger haired initiate sweep the floor.

 It was late at night and the expanse of the room was dimly lit by not enough braziers hanging from the ceiling. A young family bunkered down for the night in an alcove behind him, snoring softly. If there was any indication needed to show to him that there was a war, that was it. Chantry halls beginning to put up refugees that fled to safety. It was as good a place as any for them to hide, he supposed. It was warm, the heavy stone provided enough shelter from the elements, and if they were somewhat inclined, they say the Maker hears everybody within the Chantry walls. For a moment, Oscar briefly considered taking Duncan up on his suggestion to pray for his families souls, but decided against it. Instead he rested his back against the pew and let his head tilt backwards so that he looked to the wooden rafters. His words were reserved for himself, no God, no prophet, no initiates that swept the floors and as he spoke, his voice dripped with all of the sorrow that he thought he had let go of. 

 "Please show me how to make everything alright again."

 Whether things went back to the way they were or not was not for him to decide, only to live.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that the following is where the almost rape/non-con is referenced.

**Chapter Seven**

 

"I still have my legs..." Was the first thing that Ellie gasped out loud to herself when her eyes snapped open and her hands immediately grasped below her knees.

The second thought that she had was that she must have been dead. Not an unrealistic assumption, after all she  _had_  just heavily applied her boot to a land mine, what did she expect? Though where she found herself did not look particularly heavenly. She lay on her stomach, with her right leg tucked upwards and outwards, nearly meeting her right arm that also lay outstretched to her side now. As she wriggled her fingers, she noticed that it was not sandy dust embedding itself into the cracks of her hands, but lush green grass. If she hadn't seen and felt it, the smell was a give away. It always reminded her of when her foster parents had taken her camping in Snowdonia, the smells of nature and pine trees was unmistakable. 

With a start, she sat up and pain shot up her spine.  _Definitely not dead_ , she mused. Though whether she was thankful or not was yet to be decided. 

_Where am I?_ While the area she found herself in may have smelled like something like a childhood memory, it certainly was not. The ridge that she had found herself on was indeed covered with nearly perfect wild grass but further down the hill were crude marshes. Within these bogs stood the ruins of buildings long swallowed by time and elements, leaning to one side, threatening to tumble into the water at any opportunity. Many of the trees in the sparsely populated forest appeared to be long dead, their limbs blackened and twisted, while others resisted and clung onto the few leaves they had left. She was definitely not in the same war zone that she had left behind. Which begged the same question;  _where the fuck am I?!_  Ellie looked around, drinking in as much detail as she could from the landscape, it was only then that she realised that she was alone _. Captain Brady... Anna... Graham?_ Had they been killed when the mine went off? No, she couldn't afford to think like that.  _Something_  had gone wrong with the mission, somehow. They would find her and this time the following night they would be eating pasta in tomato sauce and laughing about it. She just had to hold out until then.

During her basic training, she was always told that if she was separated from her section to remain in her current position and wait for them to come looking. It was what her foster parents had said to her if she ever wandered around in the supermarket; "stay where you are and we will come and find you." At this point, the advice seemed ridiculous, but until she had a better idea of where she was, she did not have much of a choice. 

As she pushed herself upright, pain jolted through her lower back and hip.  _This is going to be horrible_ , she inwardly complained. Fortunately her rifle still rested securely against her back and after a quick inspection, seemed to be in good working order, she also had three full magazines in her pouch, each holding thirty rounds. That should be enough to last her until her section found her should the worst happen. She had the best part of a twenty four hour ration pack stuffed into her other pouches, as well as a little cooker and half a bottle of water, she had needed the rest for the harsh desert climate. With a bit of luck the water in the area would be drinkable; if not then she'd go thirsty. Years ago soldiers used to be issued with little tablets that could purify water, but nowadays, they were seen less and less.  

The position of the sun told her that it was late afternoon and that it would shortly set, paving the way for a cold night by the look of it. The last thing that Ellie wanted was to be out in the open in a foreign land, on her own, at night. She quickly scanned the area, hoping to find a good place to hide, sleeping would be out of the question until she could figure out where she was, but that was okay, she'd operated on little sleep before. In the distance she could make out the outline of a large ruin, smoke billowing upwards told her that it was inhabited by a lot of people, if the amount of camp fires was anything to go by. As the crow flies, it was probably no more than seven miles away, but the rough ridges and sharp hills would take some time navigating and in the dark, would likely take her all night.  _No, better I wait until daylight_ , she decided.  

She began to walk down the hill, her back and hip protesting. At that moment she was very glad of her decision to wait until dawn before exploring the castle. Not too far away, she could see a spot where the trees had grown back against an archway of some old ruin, providing a small space of shelter from the elements. It wasn't perfect and she was still in for a cold night, but at least she could stay mostly dry if it did start raining. 

As she reached her sheltered spot, she felt her stomach growl painfully. She reached into her pouch to find a small handful of the diet sweets that she had been splitting with her colleagues what felt like only a few hours before. She chewed slowly, savouring the taste before washing them down with a few gulps from her water bottle. Deciding against starting a fire to heat up one of her rationed meals, she snuggled down against the wall, her chin resting on her knees with the intention of watching the sun set and watching for any signs of life. She carefully removed her helmet and body armour, as well as any other outer layer, feeling the cold wind reach her exposed skin. The plan would be to adjust to the outside temperature and then to replace them, then she'd feel the benefit of a second layer. An old trick from her foster grandmother. Her eyelids felt heavy. The surge of adrenaline that had kept her alert so far had run its course, taking its toll on her exhausted body. The young woman did not plan to sleep, in fact she knew that sleeping would be risky, but her body demanded it and against her will, she found herself succumbing. 

_She found herself dreaming of home, in England. Her tour was nearly over and soon she would be home, back to her studio flat, the rain and her Samuel. God she missed him. They had seemed to fight like cat and dog up until she left and had barely spoken while she'd been out and she was excited to reconnect. She knew why it bothered him; he wanted her to get a regular job in a cafe or a shop again so that she would be there whenever he wanted her. That's what she'd done when they had first met._  

_Before she had decided to join the army and become a medic, she had gone to University for a while with the intention of training as a nurse. After a number of months of working in a little cafe in the centre of town as well as studying, she made the decision that she was not enjoying her new career to be, quit and joined up. There was no reason to feel down about it, like teaching, it was one of those careers where a person had to experience it first hand and while her experience was limited to one shift at a local hospital per week, it was enough. Also with the threat of a nuclear war on the cards she wanted to help in any way that she could. It was one big flaw in her personality that she would openly admit to, she could never sit back and not help._  

_Ellie had become friendly with an elderly woman that came into the cafe four times per week for a bowl of tomato soup and a chicken and cucumber sandwich, and often took pleasure in talking to her during her breaks. During her tour, she often found herself reminiscing of the simplicity of life working in that little cafe that seemed to attract pensioners from all over her village. With the exposed beams and brickwork inside, paintings of hunting dogs on the walls and a roaring fire in the corner that made the room too hot after April, it was the picture of countryside bliss. When Ellie met the woman's son, she was blown away by how much he adored his Mother, it was something that was rarely seen nowadays, or at least not in the usual boys that she saw. Although he was an older man (well, older than she would normally go for), his boyish charms and sense of humour soon had her excitedly anticipating the days when he joined his Mother for lunch. Eventually he seemed to come to the cafe alone and each time would offer to buy Ellie a coffee, on the condition she spent her break drinking it with him. Her stomach would do summersaults and she would spend all of her lunch break with him in the corner of the pokey cafe by the fire, flirting over a sweet cup of tea. It was far from love at first sight, in fact for a long period of time, Ellie tried to distance herself from him, especially when he revealed to her that he was still married and going through a separation with his wife. It was so hard to though, especially when she walked in and their eyes would meet, he had a way of making her feel like the only woman in the room. Her! She was nothing special to look at, her nose was a little too flat, her hair was a little too thick and unruly, and her arse was a little too wide. But the way he looked at her told her that he thought she was beautiful. Although nothing happened between them at that point, she wanted it to, wished it to, even._  

_In the months following the death of the elderly woman, she grew apart from Samuel. Understandably so, he needed to grieve for his Mother and visiting one of her favourite places must have still been too hard for him. At least that's what Ellie told herself, and who knows, she was probably right. Or he was just being polite. Yeah, it was probably that. She never knew her own parents, but would arguably feel exactly the same if she lost her foster Mother.  Time crept on and she left her course at University when war was declared and began her military training. It was hard going and most of the time she put on an act of bravado, showing everybody that she knew a lot more than she honestly did, on the inside though she felt like a scared little girl who just wanted her foster Mum to give her a hot chocolate and tell her everything would be okay._  

_It wasn't until months later when she found herself jogging along the painted white line on a pavement, separating a cycling path that she spotted a familiar figure walking towards her. In her dream she fondly remembered their reunion; such as it was. She liked to run along the white line, she couldn't explain it, it was just a habit she had gotten herself into. That cold morning she spotted the pedestrian walking towards her, on_ her _line. It was beyond silly, but her first thought was "how dare he?" It was_ her _spot! That unintentionally initiated a game of chicken, to see who would move first, the man was staring at the ground and therefore unaware of any of this taking place, Ellie knew this but felt particularly stubborn that morning. It was only when the man looked up at her and a glint of recognition broke out onto both of their faces that she jogged towards him with renewed purpose. Ellie had thought about what to do when they finally reached each other, an awkward kiss on the cheek, a handshake? Would he think her too forward? All worries evaporated when he reached her and without hesitation, enveloped her into a hug._  

_"Ella! It's so good to see you again," he breathed into her curls. She suddenly became hyper aware of the layer of sweat that coated her skin._  

_"Samuel! What a surprise. How are you?" She panted back, her breath having been taken away not only by her exercise but by him as well, even after so long. She chose to ignore him getting her name wrong, it had been a long time._  

_They quipped through the last year in awkward small talk, each wanting to say more than they dared. Ellie would have never described herself as shy, but as she grew out of her teen years, she became more reserved than some of her friends._  

_That's why she took herself so much by surprise when she heard herself say, "I want to see you again. Can we go for a drink tonight?" She mentally kicked herself, of course he wouldn't! It had been over a year since they'd last seen each other, he was probably seeing somebody. Even if he wasn't, why would he be interested in someone like her?_  

_"I was hoping you'd ask," he smiled at her, making her heart race._  

_"Wow, really? Great!" Her grin spread across her face and she absently looked at her feet, tucking an errant curl behind her ear and hoping that he didn't notice her blush._  

_"Do you still work at Poppy's? We can meet there for some tea then go for drinks?"_  

_"I don't work there anymore, but yes, that sounds perfect!"_  

_His smile had a way of winding itself into her stomach and making it flutter in excitement. They quickly exchanged numbers and she dared to give him a wink before jogging on, faster and eager to get home and ready for the night ahead…_  

Ellie sensed that she was in danger even before her eyes snapped open. She knew straight away that it was a mistake to fall asleep and as she awoke, in the alien environment, she felt more vulnerable than ever. When she reached for her rifle, her hand met damp, cold grass, coated with early morning dew. Though when her eyes opened, it was still dark, like a winter’s morning. The darkness was the reason she did not see the shadow looming over her until she felt the cold steel against her throat.  

"Well, well, what do we have here, boys?"  

Her breath caught in her windpipe and she couldn't let it out. This was really bad. As her eyes slide upwards to meet her captor, she remembered that she had removed her helmet.  _Fuck_. The man stood over her, clad in heavy metal plating from the waist upwards, like something out of a medieval drama. Over his hips and legs, he wore an ankle length kilt that looked similar to a pair of curtains in her old student house. His helmet was built of the same metal and had plates that hung low to protect his ears and face, leaving only a thin slit for his eyes. Across his chest, pointing upwards towards his helmet was a flaming sword engraved into his plate.  

"Seems the Maker is looking down on us today, Brothers!" He laughed, a number of other voices joined in and Ellie counted three more men coming into view. They spoke with the same accent as her, but in her gut, she knew that these men were not allies. The man who stood closest to her grabbed her roughly by the shoulder of her shirt and pulled her up, "stand up, girl!" 

"Hey! Easy there, mate. No need to be so rough," she snapped, harsher than she intended to since she was trying to comply with him. What else could she do, this lunatic had a  _sword_  to her throat! Who even used swords nowadays anyway?! 

The man let out a noise that was halfway between a chuckle and a groan that came from within his chest. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he removed his sword from her neck, sliding it back into a fur scabbard at his hip, pulled off his helmet and reached for a small knife at his belt. The last thing that Ellie wanted to do was to reveal how afraid she was, so she focussed on the man's features. He was young, probably no older than she was. But his brown eyes held none of the relative innocence of the boys at home, this man had seen a lot. Probably more than she had. His whole demeanour was hard and unsympathetic.  

The young man's hand roughly grabbed her breast, making her wince, though she tried not to show it. She obviously failed and he chuckled dryly. With his left hand, he ran the knife through the back of her bun, snapping the elastic that held it in place; her curls fell around her shoulders. Ellie was frozen in place from fear. He leant in towards her ear and inhaled deeply, she cringed. 

"You smell good, sweetheart," he growled, roughly kneading her breast.  

She refused to look at him, but she could feel her bottom lip wobbling, revealing her fear and revulsion. A second man approached her, but kept his helmet on, hiding his identity.  The way the younger man looked at her at that point sent her in to full panic mode. As she looked around, before the helmeted man grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, she remembered that her rifle was missing. There was nothing in her pouch that she could use as a weapon either.  _Shit_.  

"She's mine first, hold her down," the helmeted man instructed.   

Ellie suddenly felt herself being pushed to the ground and her shoulders pinned to the grass by the younger man. When the second man reached for her buckle, her instincts kicked in and she thrashed her legs about, hoping to land a lucky thud in his helmet. She wasn't successful and she realised with anguish that all she'd achieved was to make them angry. The man who had previously had his hands on her belt buckle drew it back and punched her hard in the stomach and she doubled over in pain. It took her longer than normal to realise that while she was blinded by pain, the second man had managed to tear open her buckle and combats. Her shoulders were pinned down and she couldn't overpower them.  _Shit shit shit!_ She thrashed but it didn't seem to have any effect.  _Okay, Ellie, think_. It was then that she noticed the small knife lying in the grass near the first man's knee. He was far to engrossed in pinning her down to notice her begin to reach for it. The hilt felt good in her hand, solid, like a safety line.  

Before she could think of any other option, she drove the knife upwards and into the throat of the unhelmeted knight. His blood spurted over her like a hot thick shower and it took all of her willpower not to gag there and then. Her fist clenched tightly around the knife and she breathed heavily, her face coated in slick blood. She was a medic, but she did not need her training to know that she had killed him, despite her limited reach.  

"You fucking bitch!" Another voice cried before she felt a metal boot connect with her ribs and a sickening crack resounded.  

Stars danced before her eyes and as the boot connected again, her vision became spotted. She coughed and was convinced that some blood came out too.  

"Stop!" A commanding voice bellowed from a distance not too far away.  

As the flurry of boots and fists ceased, she curled herself up tightly, not daring to cry out from the pain in her sides. She briefly saw someone pick up her rifle, this was it. She was going to die. 

"Andraste's flaming sword, what is going on here?!" The voice demanded. 

"Sir, she killed Russell, sir," came another voice. 

Ellie chanced a quick peak. There was no real way to identify which man was the new member of the group. They all wore the same armour and helmets, but one man was staring at her intently. Or as intently as one could when only allowed a ten millimetre sized slit to look out from.  

"Very well, but justice will be served by the Crown and Chantry, not by some Templar recruits." Ellie felt a chill avalanche down her spine. "Bring her to Ostagar." The man ordered before turning away. 

Ellie barely had a chance to stand before she felt the cold metal of her rifle strike the back of her head, sending her over the edge to oblivion.


	8. Chapter Eight

The first time Alistair saw her, it was at a glance. Her hands and ankles were bound and she was flung over the shoulder of Sir Ryman, one of the Templar commanders that often acted as the Revered Mother's personal body guard. Her green tunic was torn and hung limply around her shoulders. Any fabric that covered her legs was long gone, only grime and mud covered her, but a generous amount of flesh was still on show, drawing out lewd catcalls from an encampment full of men. At first he had thought she had been found like this, maybe a victim of the war. But then he heard the word _murderer_. He turned away from her, she didn't look like a murderer, but then again, you could never tell these days. 

He saw her again a few days later; she had been stripped and was hung in a cage that was around his shoulder height off the ground. She was conscious this time, but her eyes seemed resigned and lifeless. He stood behind Duncan, who had arrived with a new recruit the night before, giving him a total of three new recruits that he and Niya would be taking into the Korcari Wilds later that day. It felt strange to not have the Junior Warden title attached to him anymore and instead to the petite elven woman stood next to him. He was still to accompany the new recruits into the wilds; Niya had been a Warden for less than a week, so Duncan felt it best that she shadow Alistair for a while. Which he didn't complain about, despite her being a Mage, he had gotten used to her dry sense of humour, and no longer expected her to set his nose hair on fire at any opportunity. 

"I heard she was a spy," Niya whispered, a little louder than she planned. Duncan shot the two Wardens a pointed glare and started to talk to the young woman. 

Alistair warily regarded the elven woman with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She was up to something. Her eyes quickly darted around the camp before she spoke, louder than before, "an Orlesian spy. Here to assassinate the King."

The fair haired woman in the cage didn't look like a spy, her skin was too clear, as though she had never been accidentally nicked during a spar and whilst lean muscle could be seen along her thighs and midriff, there was still something a little too soft about her. But then again, he had grown up in a monastery and been there for his Templar training until only six months ago when Duncan conscripted him into the Grey Wardens; it was fair to say that he knew next to nothing about the female physique. Realising that he was staring at her, her eyes met his and he turned away quickly, blushing furiously. Who knows though? She was doing a perfectly good job of keeping her mouth shut, for all he knew; she could have been protecting somebody. 

When he dared to look back at her, he noticed that her eyes were fixed on Niya, and her stare was like frost. 

"I'm not a spy," she croaked. They were the first words that she had spoken since the three Wardens had arrived. 

"Prove it," Niya goaded. 

The woman stared at the elf incredulously and the look that Duncan shot Niya told him that the Mage was treading a very fine line. 

"Are you an actual idiot?" The prisoner spat. 

Niya's face darkened. "You're really not in the best position to be throwing insults around. Would you like to know what I think?"

"Not really."

"I think that you're an Orlesian Spy, a really bad one. Bad enough to get yourself captured. You may not have been here to assassinate the King but I'd wager you were here at the very least to discover our numbers or movements against the dark spawn. Unfortunately, those Templars were the only thing in your way. Did you know that they were here on behalf of the Grand Cleric? Of course you did. So you tried, notice the key word there? _Tried._ To remove them. In doing so, you really underestimated how tough Templars actually are. I should know, my people have worked side by side with them for hundreds of years. And finally, you got yourself captured, and you only managed to eliminate _one_ target. Wow, you really are bad at this!"

"I thought so, you _are_ an idiot," the prisoner spat. 

"You little bi..." Niya started.

"Warden! That's enough!" Duncan barked, his hand snapping forward, cutting through the tension. 

"You are nearly right, Lady Warden," spoke another voice as the jailor walked up the ramparts towards them. Alistair watched as Niya stood down, but still managed to make every glance at the jailor look like a challenge. 

"You were correct about everything besides her motive or where she's from. Her accent suggests that she is Ferelden, what her motives are, nobody knows yet. But I can make the birdie talk," he grinned, sending a shiver down Alistair's spine and making the hairs on his arms stand upright.

"Touch me again and I'll ram those keys down your throat, freak," the prisoner snarled, life beginning to ebb back into her eyes. Niya snorted loudly and began to say something, but one look from Duncan left her speechless.

Duncan sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes wearily with his thumb and forefinger. Alistair could see it in his mentors face, he was exhausted. The older man probably hadn't gone to sleep until late and he was awake long before anybody else. A Grey Warden's legendary stamina is helpful when it came down to pushing yourself further, but he wished that Duncan would realise that it didn't make him super human. 

"Niya, would you please go and round up the three recruits and meet us by the fire brazier?" Duncan asked, calmer than Alistair imagined he felt. 

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" The auburn haired elf grinned mockingly.

"Niya..." Growled Duncan.

"Alright! I'm going! Maker, don't get your knickers in a knot!" She laughed, shooting a quick glare at the blond prisoner before promptly smacking Alistair on the rump and skipping off. 

Duncan glared at Alistair expectantly and the younger man just shrugged, looking at the floor. The elven woman had started the rump slapping a few days before Duncan returned and Alistair suspected that she only continued in order to see him blush and feel uncomfortable. 

"What?" He asked innocently.

Duncan shook his head and turned to the jailor. "You say a group of patrolling Templars brought her in?" The jailor nodded. "When?"

"Three days ago, Sir," he replied.

"Has she eaten?" 

"No, Sir."

"Why? Is she refusing?" Duncan asked. The jailor awkwardly shuffled and looked at his feet, "well?"

"No, Sir. The Grand Cleric gave us orders to not feed her until she revealed who she worked for." 

Duncan stared at the man with an unreadable expression; he squirmed under the Commander's scrutiny. Alistair looked back up at the woman, it was only then that he noticed her cheek bones we more pronounced than proportionate. If she were an older woman, it would have been obvious, but the plumpness of youth hid the beginnings of malnourishment. The cracking of her lips however, implied to Alistair that she had also not had anything to drink. He knew that humans could generally survive for six or seven days without any water. And whilst it had been raining, he could see that the small amount that she may have had during a storm would not be enough to sustain her for long. Duncan's face told him that he had also realised this. 

"Alistair, would you go and get some food and water, please?" He instructed. 

"Sir, I have orders..." The jailor began.

"The Grey Warden's authority superceeds that of the Chantry. I am also not ordering you to do a thing, this man is under my command and it is he who will be carrying out my orders," Duncan calmly explained. "Alistair, if you would..." 

Alistair smiled in relief, "of course, Duncan."

He glanced quickly at the woman and as her blue eyes met his amber ones, he felt a small tightness in his chest. It tightened further when she spared him a small, grateful smile and as he walked in the opposite direction, he realised that he hoped that she would be alright and survive. 

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

"What's your name, girl?" The bearded man asked her kindly. 

"Elise Catherine Stone," she replied quietly, unsure why he was bothering asking.

"Tell me, are you a spy?" 

"No! I don't even know where I am, let alone who is important around to spy on around here!" She wailed painfully.

The man chuckled slightly, "you are in Ferelden, My Lady. Within the ruins of Ostagar, just south of the Hinterlands to be exact."

That meant nothing to her...

"Okay..." She replied, weakly. 

"Are you cold?" The man asked. 

"Yes, freezing, they took my clothes," Ellie replied, staring pointedly at the jailor. 

"I had orders! Besides, nobody else is given that luxury around here! What makes you so special?!" He barked back.

The bearded man glared at him and he quickly quietened down and sulked back to his wooden crate and picked up a plate of food. Ellie's stomach growled painfully. She watched the older man reach into a crate and pull out a rough wool blanket, which he passed to her through the bars of the cage. 

"Thank you," she whispered, knitting herself into the warm folds. 

"Tell me, Elise Catherine Stone, why did you attack those Templars," he asked calmly.

Ellie became distracted by the sight of the amber eyed man walking back towards them with a loaf of bread and some sort of brown sack. 

"I... Umm," she started, unable to focus when the promise of nourishment was right in front of her. 

"Pass her the bread and water, Alistair," the man instructed, to which the younger man, Alistair, followed. 

The bread was harder than it looked in her hands but she didn't care, tearing off big chunks and washing them down with water, she felt better than she had done in days. Normally she would worry that she was being a noisy eater, but nothing had been normal since she had arrived in this weird place. The two men watched her eat as though they had never seen a woman stuff her face before. 

Shortly after she was half way through the bread, the older man spoke up, "Elise Catherine Stone, I want to help you, but first I must know what happened in the wilds." 

"Ellie," she stated. "I prefer to be called Ellie, Sir." 

"Ellie..." The man mulled her name over, "what happened to you?" 

That gave her pause, what could these men possibly do to help her? She needed to get home. But maybe they knew how. Either way, if she stayed in the cage, she would not survive, for certain. There was talk about an attack being imminent on the ruins that she found herself in, even if that didn't happen or she somehow managed to survive, she would still likely be killed off by the elements or starvation. 

She cleared her throat and rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, "what do you want to know?"

"Where did you come from?" 

"Heath, a village in North England," she responded. 

"I am sorry, where?" He asked, a bewildered look on his face.

"England? You know, the United Kingdom? In Europe?" She replied, surely he has misheard her, but the uncertain look did not leave the older man's face before he turned to Alistair and whispered something in his ear. The amber eyes man shook his head in response to whatever he'd asked.

"Very well. What are you doing here?" He asked.

Ellie felt a lump in her throat begin to form, "I don't know. I was in a war and _something_ happened, then I woke up a little distance away from here. Wherever "here" is!"

"Do you think she's telling the truth, Duncan?" Alistair addressed the older man, who promptly ignored him.

"Why did you kill that man?" 

"Because he was going to rape me," she choked, the lump working its way upwards until her nose tingled and her eyes were pricking. "He pinned me to the ground while his friend ripped at my clothes and he touched me. I couldn't fight off all four of them at once, not without my rifle. So I just acted, to save myself."

"Your rifle?" Duncan asked.

"In that crate over there, next to where you found the blanket. It's the heavy black metal thing," she sobbed, hating how weak she felt but at the same time, wishing he'd given her a little more sympathy than he had. And wishing that the amber eyed Alistair would stop staring at her as though she were an injured bird.

Duncan, the older man was addressed as, turned away from her to rummage through the crate that she had pointed at. She had watched the jailor pour through her things before taking her food and dumping her webbing and rifle into the crate. With the rain that they'd had she couldn't imagine how much work she'd need to put into cleaning it. Duncan pulled it out by the scope and she flinched, _please don't break it!_ She silently begged him. 

"This?" Duncan asked.

"Yes," she replied quietly.

"What is it?" 

"You... Don't know? Have you not seen one before?" She asked, incredulously.

Both men shook their heads. 

"It tends to be one of the favoured weapons where I'm from. Though we have other variations. That one is just the standard issued type given to all soldiers," she explained.

"You're a soldier then? Who do you fight for?" Alistair interrupted.

"It doesn't matter Alistair," Duncan replied quickly, "may I speak to you alone for a moment?" 

The light haired man reluctantly agreed. 

"Excuse us please, Ellie," Duncan addressed her before turning and walking several paces away with the younger man in tow. The two conversed in hushed whispers for a moment. Ellie watched closely. Duncan's face remained an unreadable mask. However, most of the conversation was relayed through Alistair's, whatever it was that Duncan had said, he seemed a little apprehensive about it, before breaking into a grin. He was dismissed and Duncan turned back towards her and the jailor.

"Please release the prisoner," Duncan commanded. 

"What?! I can't do that..." The jailor began.

"No, you can. And you will. You will release this prisoner and the three of us will make our way towards the training yard. There, I would like to see what this young woman is capable of with her weapon," Duncan smiled at her. 

"You do realise that she has killed before, Sir?" 

"Yes, I am crystal clear on the fact. I am placing a great deal of trust into this woman. If she does anything to damage that trust, kill her."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I'm so blown away by all the lovely things that everyone has said in the comments and the Kudos that everybody has left for me! Honestly, it really makes my day when I get a nice comment or kudos left, I love the thought of people enjoying my story!!! Thank you thank you thank you thank you!!!!!! 
> 
> Oh and Duncan's old flame? I may write that as a side story within this Universe, I'm still deciding :D

Duncan did not know whether his plan would work or not, but as soon as he saw that familiar defiant spark within the young woman, he knew that he needed to try something. Of course he knew who the girl was straight away. He  _had_  just recruited her twin after all. She may have grown into a woman, and no longer look as identical to him as the last time he saw them, but as an adult she had become a vision of her Mother as a girl. That closeness of a resemblance was hard to mistake, even if her attitude did not already give her away. Duncan had been a lot younger himself, just shy of sixteen years younger to be exact when he learned of the missing Cousland girl. He had met the children before, often when he passed through Highever recruiting. Prior to his arrival at Castle Cousland though, it had to have been at least four years since he last walked the halls. 

He closely supervised the jailor open her cage and watched her slowly step down to the ground, her legs giving way slightly beneath her before she steadied herself. Before she could pull the blanket around herself tighter, he spotted a splatter of dark purple bruises on her midriff. He mentally noted that he would need to take her to a circle mage to make sure that she was healthy. Maker knows that Niya's healing skills left a lot to be desired. The elf could probably make a pristine griffon ice sculpture with one hand tied behind her back and blindfolded, but healing magic was a near impossibility for her. Of course he felt guilty about putting Elise through her paces whilst she wasn't at her best, but he saw no other alternative.

Duncan walked over to the crate and pulled out a pair of trousers and a grubby tunic for her.

"Get dressed," he ordered as he thrust them into her hands. Lady Cousland didn't hesitate in snatching the clothes from him and pulling them onto her beaten frame.  _No, not Lady Cousland_. He shouldn't call her that. While she seemed to know her first name, it was perfectly clear that she either did not remember or would not disclose her family name. Best to let her tell him in her own time. If all went to plan, there would be plenty of it. It was distinctly possible that she actually couldn't remember her name. After all, where she had been for the last decade and a half was anybody's guess. But that also left open the possibility that she actually  _was_  a spy.

Once she was dressed, Duncan sharply jerked his head in the direction of the training area and began to walk that way, not bothering to check to see if she was following. He cleared the distance in under two minutes, then looked behind to see her slowly jogging to catch him up. In her arms rested a green pack, that seemed to be made up of multiple little pouches. She also had her weapon, though she held it differently to how Duncan imagined. Being honest though, he had never seen anything like it before. 

"Okay, what now?" She panted, her breathing ragged. He would  _definitely_  need to take her to a circle mage.

"I'd like to see how effective you are in combat," he replied.

"In combat...?"

"You said you were a soldier."

"I am. But I'm a medic. I heal people."

Duncan lowered his voice, "are you a Mage?" Last he recalled, magic didn't run through the Cousland bloodline, but if she was then it would go someway to explain where she had been all these years.

"I don't even know what that means..." She replied, mockingly matching his own hushed whisper, "look, I don't know what you want me to say. I help to heal people when they've been injured. I can apply tourniquets to stop bleeding and package wounds so that they don't bleed out further before the patient gets to a hospital. I'm not some Special Forces Rambo wannabe that had anything impressive to show you."

The girl looked truly frustrated. Duncan sighed heavily, this was not going to plan. 

"Very well, My Lady. Do you know how to use your weapon?" He asked, exasperated.

"Of course I do. I'm not an amazing shot but I can hit things," she replied, a little too defensively.

She used the word  _shot_. That implied that her weapon was ranged. Interesting. 

"I'd like to see," he said, holding his hand out for her to take the lead.

She locked her jaw and sharply exhaled, "fine. What do you want shooting?"

"I'd like you to imagine that that dummy over there is a darkspawn. Kill it," the Grey Warden commander instructed, indicating a wooden combat dummy fifty metres away from them. 

"Whatever, I'll just pretend that I have the faintest clue what you're on about," she muttered almost too quietly for him to hear. 

In well rehearsed and fluid motion, she began to clip things into her weapon and to turn it over, looking carefully at it, before seeming satisfied and pushing it into her right shoulder. Her cheek rested on the weapon, and Duncan noticed that she held it similar to a crossbow. She pulled back on the trigger and  **bang**! Nothing could have prepared Duncan for the loud explosion that the small weapon made. The jailor behind him quickly drew his weapon and began to walk towards them, but a quick hand signal from Duncan gave him pause. He still did not lower his weapon though. She pulled the trigger again,  **bang**! And again,  **bang**! Then she pressed a few buttons and flicked a switch before lowering her rifle and turning to the two men, seemingly satisfied. 

"What was that?!" Duncan gasped.

"You told me to shoot the dummy. So I did," she replied, nonchalantly.

Duncan took his eyes away from the girl and walked towards the wooden dummy. As he approached, he noticed three holes that had formed perfectly within the wood. One in the shoulder, one slightly below and one in the face.

He looked back at the girl to see her slightly turned away from him, a look of pain on her face. It was her ribs, the way she clutched at her sternum told him so. She glanced back at him, meeting his eyes before straightening up and struggling to put a neutral expression on her face.

"I missed my first shot and got him in the shoulder. I think I got him on my second but fired a third just to be sure," she muttered.

"I'm impressed," Duncan replied. He realised that he wasn't telling any word of a lie. Regardless of whether it took three bolts to kill the creature or not, she did so quickly and did not stop until it would be dead. She did so even under intense pain. It was at that point that he noticed her arms were shaking. She desperately needed to see a healer.

  
_Just imagine how effective she could be when she is fully healed, with a weapon like that!_ _  
_  


It wasn't long before he found himself very excited by the idea. With a little healing and some practice, she could be invaluable, and the beauty of it was that there was no shortage of darkspawn to practice on!  _  
_  


"My Lady, I would like to formally extend an invitation for you to join the Grey Wardens," he said as officially as he could. _  
_  


"What?"

"I would like to formally..."

"No, I heard you. I just don't know what you're talking about," she interrupted.

"We are an order of warriors dedicated to eradicating darkspawn and fighting the blight. I would like you to join our ranks," he stated, beginning to feel the tiniest flake of annoyance creep into his demeanour.

"That's a great sales pitch, but it means nothing to me. What do you want from me?"

"As an order, we need skills like yours. I would like you to serve in our ranks against the darkspawn. In return we will provide protection, freedom to an extent, a home, family," he trailed off.

"Protection? You mean I won't have to go back in the cage?" She asked, hopefully.

Duncan gave a small chuckle, "No, you won't have to go back in the cage."

"You can't do that!" The jailor spoke up.

"I'm in," Ellie replied smugly, shooting a smirk at the jailor.

"I do believe I can," Duncan stated coolly.

"The Grand Cleric will hear of this! This woman murdered one of her men! She is going nowhere!"

"I hereby invoke the right of conscription on this prisoner. I will bear the brunt of the Grand Cleric's ire on the matter," the older man stated calmly, but with no less authority in his voice.

The right of conscription gave the Grey Wardens the authority to recruit anybody into their ranks, and historically, had often been used in a time of great need, such as during a blight. During peace times, the organisation could afford the luxury of slowly building up their numbers, and thus having less of a need to invoke their rights. While nobody was immune to being conscripted, there were political strings attached to conscripting people like Kings, so it was never done. One rule that Duncan always followed and enforced on his men was that Grey Wardens do not get involved in politics.  _Technically_  he wasn't involving himself now since most of Ferelden nobility assumed that she was dead. No, for him, his reasons for his insistence were purely sentimental. Well, not purely, the girl  _did_  have potential, he'd admit to that much. But a great deal of his decision to take her from imprisonment was based on imagining her Mother's face if she knew that he had saved her daughter. Even after so many years, he still held a flame for Eleanor Cousland. Not being able to save her that night crushed his heart more than he cared to show, the memories would likely still be too raw for him for a long time.

"The Grand Cleric will hear of this! You haven't heard the last of this matter, Warden!" The jailor repeated, stalking off, Duncan assumed to find the Revered Mother.

As the form retreated into the crumbling jungle of Ostagar, Duncan turned to the girl, who looked ready to faint.

"Elise, allow me to escort you to the Circle tents so that you can have your injuries seen to. When you are better we will discuss the preparations for your joining ritual. It will either be conducted by myself or Warden Constable Gardos," he explained, guiding her towards the brightly coloured tents a short distance from them.

Maker, the joining ritual. He hoped that he hadn't sent her from the cooking pot into the fire pit.

* * *

 

"He's planning on doing what?!" The auburn haired elf snapped at Alistair. 

"Keep your voice down," he hissed in response, looking over at the three Warden Recruits who stood awkwardly in the ruined temple, trying not to eavesdrop.

Oscar was stood closest to them, with Daveth only a few feet away from him. Ser Jory was picking his way through a broken chest, searching for the Grey Warden documents that Alistair had said would be there. He seemed to ignore the conversation between the two Wardens, either that or he couldn't hear, though Oscar suspected that it was the former.

"What do you mean he's conscripting her? She's a murderer!" Niya hissed loudly. That got Daveth's attention and he came to stand closer to the argument, next to Oscar.

"You know well enough that that doesn't matter to Duncan. Besides, you don't know her full story," Alistair argued.

"Don't I? It all seems plain enough to me! Your flawless mentor is beginning to lose his mind. After what he did in Denerim with that one over there," she sharply jerked her head towards Daveth and Oscar, "anyone would think he's hearing the calling."

"Is she talking about me," Daveth whispered to Oscar. The noble shrugged in response, too engrossed in the lover's feud. 

"Don't speak of him that way, Niya!" The young Warden snapped back at her, not quite daring to square up to her.

"Sorry, but it's the truth. Who in the right mind gets pick pocketed by a street rat and then offers him a place amongst us?!"

"Ah, yes. She's talking about me," Daveth chuckled quietly.

Oscar turned to him as the couple continued to rage at each other, "that's how you were recruited?"

"Aye, he caught me trying to cut his purse in the Denerim markets. Old bastard can run. The guards caught me before he did though. Wanted to hang me for repeat offences, they did. Probably would have done if Duncan hadn't conscripted me. He said speed and dexterity were sometimes as important as brute strength. So, here I am," he explained, a smile tugging at his lips. "What about you, pretty boy? I'd wager you were a noble. Third son? Either going to be sent to the chantry or Grey Wardens, was it?"

Oscar chuckled, he was only aware of Alistair and Ser Jory knowing his background and he had chosen not to disclose it to anybody else. Ser Jory had only found out when he recognised the shield that he carried as bearing the Cousland family crest, being from Highever himself. Oscar had quickly traded that and his long sword in at the smithy for a great sword anyway, only partially to avoid recognition. He looked back at the thief, "yes, that's right. You got me summed up straight away."

"I knew it! I'm pretty good at reading people!" He boasted.

The only time Oscar wanted to be recognised from entering Ostagar was when Fergus was found. Sadly, that had not seemed to have happened as his party were out scouting the wilds upon his arrival. Still, there would be time after the battle to find him, if he were alive. Part of him did not want to hope that he was, but a bigger part of him didn't think that he could take the pain of losing his older brother as well. 

"Ser Warden?" The knight shouted from the broken chest. 

Alistair and the elf stopped bickering and the young woman glared at Ser Jory, making him shift uncomfortably.

"Yes, Jory?" Alistair asked, walking towards him.

"The chest is empty. The Grey Warden documents aren't here," he said.

"What?! That can't be!" The Warden exclaimed.

The atmosphere seemed to shift and the four men stood close together as a sudden tension grew. Daveth silently nocked an arrow and Oscar noticed the Alistair and Jory's hands rested on their pommels. For a moment he wondered whether Alistair's Warden senses were picking up darkspawn. But then he reconsidered, each time that had faced the monsters within the wilds that day, only Alistair had been able to sense them. This time the coldness of the air was enough for everybody to pick up on.

"Well, well, what have we here?" A sultry, feminine voice purred from the top of a broken marble staircase, "are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, coming into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey? What say you? A scavenger, or intruder?"

She walked towards them with the grace of a queen. With every step she seemed to ooze elegance, even though her creamy skin was scantily clad in barely more than rags. Around her slender neck, she wore a number of blackened amulets, one of which hung lower than the rest, dipping into a generous cleavage. Oscar found himself absently following the amulet downwards before fixing his gaze on its resting place. Several moments of silence passed before Niya spoke up.

"We're neither. The Grey Wardens owned this temple. We came to retrieve our documents," she stated.

"Don't tell her that, she looks chasind and that means others may be nearby," hissed Alistair.

"Ah, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?" The raven haired woman mocked.

"Yes... Swooping is bad," Alistair growled.

"She's a witch of the wilds, she is!" Daveth gasped.

"My, my, such superstition. You there," she spoke to Niya, "women do not frighten like little boys, tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

"Niya," the elf replied, seeming unafraid.

"And you may call me Morrigan. I assume you come to my wilds seeking what was once contained in that chest?"

"Those documents are Grey Warden property! I suggest you return them at once," Alistair snapped.

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them," Morrigan snapped back.

"Who did then?" 

"'Twas my mother in fact."

Oscar spoke up, "could you take us to her please, Morrigan?"

"Well, well, manners! In a place such as this! From people such as yours! That is a surprise. Very well, follow me," Morrigan replied, taken aback.

She turned away from the Wardens and began to stride further into the wilds. Niya followed closely, with Alistair and Ser Jory in tow. Oscar hung back with Daveth, who seemed more interested in a weed growing by a small mire. A white flower with a red centre. 

"The kennel master said he needed one like this to cure a sick mabari. I love dogs," he said. "Oscar, I don't like this."

Oscar could not think of anything comforting to say to the thief, so he patted him on the back and tried to give a reassuring smile. He hoped that they weren't all about to walk into a trap. 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's taken me so long to get this out!!! I lost track of how long this chapter is so I decided to split it into two chapters. Hopefully that makes up for not posting for like a month! 
> 
> Anyway, please keep the good writing vibes coming! I love reviews :)

**Chapter Ten**

 

Oscar's experience of apostate mages was fairly limited to say the least. Of course he had heard of them, mages who lived outside of the Circle, refusing to bow down to Chantry law. But as far as he was aware, until he had found himself in the hut of Morrigan and her strange Mother, Flemeth, he had never met one. Alistair had instantly distrusted them, as well as Jory and Daveth. The elf, Niya seemed to take them on their word fairly quickly. That could have been because she was a Mage herself though, trusting them for the same reason that Alistair distrusted them. He made no secret about having been trained as a Templar until six months ago, a sworn servant of the Chantry, protecting the people of Ferelden from the dangers that mages pose. Though he obviously had gotten over that bias quickly if his relationship with Niya was anything to go by. Maker only knows how that came to be!  

He had yet to make up his mind about the two apostate women in the wilds. On the one hand they had kept their treaties safe, and reapplied their magical seals for them. On the other hand, as beautiful as Morrigan was, she was still creepy. Like scorpion creepy. Gorgeous, but lethal. 

Still, it no longer mattered, they were back safe within the decrepit walls of Ostagar. Far far away from them! He felt an indent in his hand where the vial of darkspawn blood that Duncan had ordered him to retrieve had been, and he idly wondered what it was for. Alistair had taken the three vials and the treaties and disappeared into a tent with Duncan and Niya, leaving the three Warden Recruits to their own devices. Their only instruction was to not go far. Ser Jory announced that he intended to spend his afternoon in quiet contemplation at the makeshift Chantry. Despite his offer for the two other recruits to join him, Oscar had politely declined. He may have spent a fair bit of time in the Chantry during their stop at Lothering, but that did not mean that he had any desire for more quiet. In fact, the thought alone was making him feel a little crazy.  

He decided to tag along with Daveth for a while. He seemed to have a little in common with the thief anyway. Or so he told himself, anything to keep from being alone. As the young man cat called at the random women who worked within the keep, Oscar couldn't help his mind wandering to other places. Back to his family, to Fergus. When would he be back from scouting the wilds? Surely they weren't that big? As much time as he'd spent with Duncan recently did not make him feel any semblance of closeness towards the older man and part of him felt that he needed the support that an older brother could give him. He needed something at least, he knew that he wasn't himself. The blatant lack of interest in chasing girls with Daveth spoke volumes to him, especially considering it was only a matter of days ago that he was almost fighting Ser Gilmore for Marian Locklake. Maker, that felt like another lifetime. 

"Oscar?" Daveth spoke up. 

"Hmm?"

"I need to speak to the kennel master. Are you coming?" He asked. 

"Yeah, I will," Oscar replied, falling into step with the thief. 

As he approached the outdoor pens, the sound of barks was almost deafening, and the smell of wet dog overpowering. Daveth's face was alight with happiness and Oscar could see that the thief was in his element. He watched as the man nearly skipped over towards the kennel master. A small pang of sadness landed in his gut, Biff was probably killed by Howe's men before he escaped. 

A name passed by his ear quickly. Teryn Loghain. It was said in passing by one of the Ash Warriors that were next to the kennels with their hounds. It had been many years since his family had had much to do with the only other Teryn in Ferelden. Oscar did remember on occasion speaking with the man during his teenage years. He had met him at Queen Anora's coronation, where he stood at her side, ever the proud Father. During her and King Cailan's reign thus far, it was a well known secret amongst the nobility that most of the ruling of the country since 9:25 Dragon was conducted by Anora and her Father. King Cailan often had other pastimes to occupy him. Oscar was tempted to deny the rumours, not believing that a man with so much power at his feet had so little interest in it. And then he met King Cailan for himself. Not being introduced as Teryn Cousland's second son, but as a Grey Warden recruit in his own right. The young King's fascination with the glory and legends of the Grey Wardens took Oscar by surprise. At first he was pleased to hear of the support to the order, especially after Duncan had explained that past generations had been distrusting to say the least since the incident with Commander Sophia Dryen. In fact it had only been twenty years since the late King Maric, Cailan's Father, had allowed the Grey Wardens to return and recruit in Ferelden. However, the  _obsession_  that King Cailan had with the order was bordering on unhealthy. It seemed that he could not see the bigger picture and his only desire was to have his moment fighting alongside them. While Oscar was the first to admit that on many occasions, he failed to see the bigger picture himself, he knew that it was a problem that he would need to address sooner rather than later. King Cailan on the other hand, seemed quite happy living in foolhardy ignorance. 

Oscar would later come to realise that his decision to seek out Teryn Loghain was one of his moments where he failed to see the bigger picture, but at the time it had seemed like a good idea. 

"Daveth, I'll be back soon," he called to the thief. Maker, he would need to stop referring to him as that! He was a Warden recruit now, the same as him.  

When he had first arrived at Ostagar with Duncan, he had unexpectedly received a royal welcome from King Cailan himself. The young King had recognised Oscar, but did not know where from until he gently reminded him. Unfortunately, when Cailan asked him how his family were faring, it opened up the same raw wounds that Oscar had spent the better part of a fortnight trying to heal. He was honest with him, being a lot more tactful than he actually felt. His Mother would have been proud. Cailan even had the courtesy to see through his momentary awkwardness and offer Oscar his condolences with near perfect amounts of sympathy for him and disgust at Howe's betrayal. But the way the King brushed aside the issue with a half hearted promise of vengeance suggested to Oscar that he had very little intention on making good on that promise. He simply seemed too excited by the prospect of fighting besides Grey Wardens on the battlefield. It was a big reason why he decided to seek out Teryn Loghain. Duncan had explained to him during their travels that Grey Wardens relinquish all lands and titles; but Oscar was not yet a fully fledged Grey Warden, and Maker he could use some allies.  

The Royal Encampment was pretty close to the Grey Warden camp, no doubt Cailan's influence. The distinguishing difference being the colouring of the tents. Bright regal patterns replaced the drab blue and grey of the Wardens. Where griffons proudly posed on banners on the other side of camp, this side held the simple Theirin crest. The Royal crest. In the centre of the encampment stood a relatively small tent, but the armed guards who vigilantly circled it told Oscar that this was the command tent. All of the strategies were decided here. If the general were to be found anywhere, this is the place. He hesitated. What would he even say to Loghain? 

Oscar did not get very long to decide as the man himself strode past him towards the tent. He was older and taller than he remembered. Still standing easily over six foot tall, his hair was still black as a raven, but now it was streaked with grey, and his once sharp, silver eyes now held the weariness of a man with too much on his plate. Oscar remembered the stories his Father used to tell him about the Hero of Riverdane. He thrived on command. Now though, he looked as though he had been bearing that burden for too long. 

Still, Oscar had no intention of letting his opportunity slip through his fingers. 

"Teryn Loghain?" He gingerly called out. 

The older man turned to him, his face intimidating. Oscar suddenly felt less confidant than he had mere seconds ago. 

"Yes? What is it?" The general snapped impatiently.  

"Sir, I wanted to take this opportunity to introduce myself. I'm..."

"You're Duncan's new recruit? Yes, I have been told about you. Cailan could not quite contain his excitement," he said monotonously. 

"His excitement?" Oscar edged. 

"Yes, I'm sure you're aware of his fascination with your order. He was quite excited to be one of the first to welcome Bryce's youngest into the ranks," Loghain smirked. 

"You know who I am?" 

"Yes, yes. Cailan could not keep a secret like that even if he didn't know it."

"Did he... Happen to say anything else?"

"Ah yes, terrible business with your family. You have my sympathies. Still, I believe Cailan promised some shred of vengeance for you once the war is over, yes?" Oscar nodded, "then there is no need to worry, is there boy? Besides, you Wardens relinquish all family ties after your joining, or vows, or whatever you do."

"Well..."

"Now was there something you needed?" 

His disinterest and the impatience in his voice left Oscar feeling deflated. This would go nowhere. 

"No, Sir. I just wanted to tell you what an honour it will be fighting alongside you," he quickly recovered, pleased that through all his grief, he could still bullshit with the best of them.

"I... Well, thank you," Loghain was visibly taken aback. He thanked him and quickly excused himself, taking his leave into the command tent. 

Cailan and Loghain's half hearted promises would need to suffice. While he could imagine himself strangling Howe in a million different ways, what Oscar really wanted was to see the bastard rot. Still, there would be time for that. Revenge was best served cold after all and he tried to push it to the back of his mind as he headed back towards the kennels to see Daveth. 

As the barking grew louder, he spotted the thief inside a dog pen, hesitantly holding a leather muzzle. He quickly pulled his hand away, chanced a look at the kennel master and back at the ground. Curious, Oscar jogged towards them. 

Daveth's voice trembled slightly, "he'll bite me!"

"Then you'll need to be quick. The hound's in pain," he replied. 

"Isn't it kinder to just put him out of his misery?" Daveth asked.

An almost argumentative bark snapped at him, like a firm  _no_! 

"Not while I have the salve that can heal him," the kennel master argued. 

Oscar was nearly there, when all of a sudden, the barks from within the kennel became erratic. A large brown head popped up from behind the fence, before dipping back down again. Wait... Oscar picked up the pace. It couldn't be... It was! 

"Biff!" He called out. 

The barks became more erratic. He was alive! Barely, but he was breathing. Oscar vaulted over the fence, into the dog shit ridden pen and crouched onto the ground with the enormous mabari.

"Oh, Maker. Biff! You're here!" He felt a sob bubbling up inside him, that threatened to escape if he dared to breathe. He wound his arms around the dog's neck and buried his face into his murky fur. Biff's hound scent surrounded him and for a moment, he could imagine being back in the safe confines of Castle Cousland where one of the worst things that could happen was losing a fight with Ser Gilmore in front of a pretty girl. 

Biff's pained whine drew him back to the moment, and he withdrew from the hairy embrace. One glance into the dog's eyes told him that he was suffering. Oscar ran his hand along the arc of his spine, feeling a splattering of poorly healing slashes and bites. Honestly it was a testament to the dog's willpower that he had survived. 

He glanced at the kennelmaster, "will he make it?" 

"Aye, should do. 'Long as I can get the poultice on him. He's been tainted by the darkspawn. Poor bugger must be in pain, but every time I go near him he nearly has my bleedin' hand. You clearly know each other, think you can get a muzzle on him?" He replied.

Oscar nodded and took the leather straps from Daveth and, as he whispered sweet comforting words to the enormous hound, he buckled the final clasp at the cusp of his neck. Biff whimpered sadly and Oscar felt his heart tear in two. Mabari had been bred as war hounds for generations, having high pain thresholds, superior intelligence and a powerful bite. Biff's show of pain was a sign of submission that his breed rarely displayed, even before his master. 

"Please don't die, boy. I can't lose you as well," he whispered, resting his forehead against the dog's leather clad muzzle. Oscar remained in the pen with him until the large hound fell asleep.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've cheekily uploaded two chapters tonight! If this is the first one you've come to, skip back to ten to avoid missing out on the fun!!

**Chapter Eleven**

 

The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time Ellie woke up. Out of all of the things to notice first, it was that her head was no longer pounding. For a few blissful moments, she indulged herself in imagining that the previous few days had not happened. Her belly was full, her muscles didn't even so much as ache and she had clothes on her back. The final hours of daylight illuminated the tent, warming her nicely. It was only when an elderly woman entered the tent that she remembered that she was no longer in the desert war zone. The woman must have been at least in her seventies, donning a floor length dress, fastened with belts forming a web that fitted snugly over her hips and waist. Her white hair was pulled back from her face and fastened by a leather thong. Ellie didn't recognise her, but her face was caring and maternal, putting her at ease.

"You're awake," the woman softly spoke.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Ellie asked, already partially knowing the answer to the latter.

Her face crinkled into a smile and her pale blue eyes held a note of understanding, "I am Senior Enchanter Wynne of the Circle of Magi. You are Duncan's new recruit into the Grey Wardens. Currently you are within the Circle encampment, at Ostagar, the front line for the Blight that threatens to swallow Ferelden."

Her voice was controlled and precise, like a schoolteacher who lectured the very youngest children. Ellie felt herself drop backwards with a big sigh, "it wasn't a dream. 

"I'm sorry, my child. No, you are truly here," Wynne's voice held all the sympathy that she had not been shown yet and she found herself already warming to the woman.

"Please? I don't know how I got here. I..." she hesitated.

"Go on, you're safe here," she soothed.

"I was in a war, I should have died but I woke up here," Ellie gave a defeated chuckle, "wherever  _here_  is."

Wynne studied her for a while, making Ellie feel naked under her gaze. A long drawn out breath then escaped her before the elderly woman slowly shook her head. "Some magicks within this world are unknown to us before we enter the fade. You are very much alive, dear, of that I can assure you. Perhaps the hows and whys will become apparent further down your path. The Maker works in mysterious ways, maybe you are not lost after all."

"No, you don't understand. This isn't right, I'm not supposed to be here," Ellie defiantly tossed the blanket off herself and quickly swung her legs off the cot until she was in a standing position. 

A sudden fresh wave of nausea ripped through her, sending her head swimming. Her skin flushed like embers and she held on tightly to the sides of the cot. A tight hiccup escaped her.

"My dear, you should not be moving yet," Wynne said patiently.

"I'm just dizzy, I'll be fine in a moment," she gasped back, sickness tumbling in her stomach, daring her to hiccup again and suffer the consequences. "I need to..."

She wasn't sure where she was going with that sentence. Fortunately, she realised that she no longer had to think of an ending, as with a swift flap, the tent opened up and Duncan strode in with fluid grace closely followed by Alistair and the mouthy woman. 

"Good to see you up and moving, Ellie," Duncan said with a smile.

"Moving, yes. She should still be on bed rest," Wynne snapped pointedly in her direction. 

"Bed rest!" The auburn haired woman scoffed, "she's been sat on her arse in a cage for the best part of a week."

"I'm fine, really," Ellie mumbled weakly.

"See? She says she's alright. Put her through the joining now with the rest of them. She doesn't need special treatment."

"Warden Niya, that's enough," Duncan barked.

"I quite agree, Duncan. Although she appears to be recovering from her injuries very well, I would still advise against anything too strenuous for at least a few days," Wynne spoke up.

"Thank you, Wynne. It was actually your counsel I sought," Duncan replied with a nod.

"Pfft! Everybody's a critic," Niya whined, looking Ellie up and down as though she were something that she found on the floor of a kennel.

"What the hell is your problem with me? Have we met before or something?" Ellie snapped in her direction.

"My problem is that you can't be trusted! I don't trust you to not slip a knife between our ribs, murderer!" She spat.

"I was defending myself!" 

"From what?! Those Templars were on their way back from spending weeks out in the wilds. They were tired, hungry and desperate for the comforts of home. You still tried to kill them while they were down to further your own goals. You expect me to believe that you won't do the same to us?" Niya growled.

"That depends, do you plan to try and rape me?" Ellie barked, instantly regretting it.

Her eyes met the pools of amber that belonged to Alistair and although he already knew her reasoning, he still visibly flinched at her words, as though she slapped him. She wondered momentarily if that  _had_  been the order's intention, but quickly dismissed it out of hand. He was clearly uncomfortable with the thought. Her eyes darted towards Niya, who had the grace to look taken by surprise for a moment before she quickly composed herself. The red head glanced to Alistair, whose eyes were still fixed on Ellie, expressing a deep sympathy that could not be said through words. Ellie may have been mistaken, but she could swear that she saw Niya's eyes narrow at the wordless exchange. 

"She's lying," the elf said softly, "they..."

"Enough, Niya," Duncan spoke up, "just, stop. As Wardens we accept help in any form as long as they are skilled and can swear fealty to the our order. Do not think I am ignorant of your own crimes."

"I..." 

"You may have been recruited by Gardos, but I read his full report detailing the circumstances of your conscription and I would advise you not to throw stones when you're in a glass house," the Commander said. 

Ellie couldn't help but feel a smug swell of glee at the young woman being told off. She was a bad bad person, and she did not mind one little bit. Niya glanced to Alistair, who refused to meet her gaze. The elf was evidently not pleased with his lack of support. 

"Alistair..."

"No, Duncan's right, Niya. Every Warden here has some sort of history, but you're not like this with Daveth, you know he's a thief that was going to the gallows if he hadn't come to us, right?" Alistair responded with, glancing at his feet the entire time, as though he were nervous to speak out against her. Ellie thought that he must really be under the thumb to have had that reaction.

Niya let out a long draw out breath through her nose, "Fine. To hell with all of you," she hissed. 

With a swoop of her floor length skirts, Niya turned on her heel and stormed from the medical tent, deliberately shoving against Alistair's shoulder, sending a blistering icy chill through the air in her wake. Ellie was reminded of a child throwing a tantrum for not getting her own way. She knew she'd have been lying if she said that it didn't give her a triumphant tingle. However, that momentary joy soon gave way to a pregnant silence, each person not sure how to break it.

"Well," Duncan began, "it was Wynne's advice I sought. Our other three new recruits are undertaking their Joining ceremony in a matter of hours. I will put you through yours when you are better recovered, perhaps in a few days."  

He paused long enough for Ellie to nod in agreement, earnest enough to imply that she had an idea that she knew what he was talking about. She didn't. 

"Tomorrow at dusk the King's army and the Wardens are undertaking an assault on the darkspawn. The blight needs to be defeated before it truly has a chance to begin. Since you will still be under the care of the healers at the Circle, you will be taken to the catacombs beneath Ostagar for the duration of the battle with any other casualties. Is that clear?" Ellie assumed that Duncan had wanted to appear as though he were expecting an argument, but he would hear nothing of the sort from Ellie, she would see to that. 

"Good, I shall see you in the morning, Elise. Sleep well," He stated simply before giving her a reassuring smile and exiting the tent, gesturing to Wynne to follow. Ellie expected her ears to begin burning soon. Alistair hung back, wringing his hands anxiously.

"Are you okay?" Ellie ventured.

"Oh yes. I'm fine, it's just, well..." Alistair glanced out from the tent flap before leaning in towards her. For a moment, Ellie thought that he might kiss her, she felt herself tense. His face stopped a fraction from hers before his voice dropped to a whisper, "you're not supposed to know this, but the joining requires you to be perfectly healthy and strong. Without going into too much detail, it's dangerous. Please do not say you can do it unless you're certain." His voice was urgent, almost pleading.

"What is it though?" Ellie asked, her curiosity piqued.

"I cannot tell you in detail. Only to warn you to be prepared. I'm sorry," he whispered.

"But you can't leave me in suspense like this," she argued.

"I have to, some secrets need to be hidden away," he whispered.

Something in the urgency in his voice told her that she would find out soon enough anyway and to not pry too deeply. 

She must have remained silent for longer than she realised, as he repeated himself, "the Joining is dangerous, please tread carefully."

All she could do was nod, the hairs on the back of her neck had stood up and she could feel a chill begin to slowly ebb it's way down her spine. His face was only inches away from hers, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath against her cheek. Ellie tended to not make decisions on whether she found another person attractive until she had gotten to know them. That wasn't to say that Alistair was not a nice looking man, he was, but she had barely spoken more than a few words to him. However, there was something strangely intimate about having another person so close that she could smell their soap on their skin. It was a feeling that she hadn't felt since before she left the UK and even then small acts of closeness were not Samuel's forte. The thought made her want to mentally slap herself, s _eriously?? That's what my mind decides to focus on?!_  In that moment she came to the conclusion to be grateful that she had taken on board what he had said about her ceremony.  _Dangerous, need to be fit, be careful, yep, got it!_ She shouldn't focus on _anything_ else _._

His eyes were still fixed on her own blue pools when they heard Duncan calling his name from outside the tent. He stood to leave, but not before she whispered a hushed "thank you," to him. As he pushed aside the tent flap, he gave her a concerned non-smile and her stomach did a somersault. Whether it was from nerves for the Joining was anybody's guess _._

_***************************************_

The sun had begun to descend behind the tree line, casting the stone skeleton of Ostagar into the silhouette of dusk. While winter had held off for as long as possible, the chill in the air that sent Alistair's skin into goose pimples told him that it would not be long before the season erupted. In his six months serving as a Grey Warden, he had never seen a Joining quite like what he had just witnessed. The three bodies of the men lay prone before him and at a glance, it would be easy to mistake the stillness that had fallen over them for them all being dead. 

Of course, not all had survived. Alistair had meant what he said to Elise about the Joining being dangerous. He had just witnessed first hand just how dangerous it could be, just as he had seen many times before. Not that he thought her some sort of delicate flower in need of protecting. He'd never seen her fight but somehow he sincerely doubted that the woman was anything close to delicate. From his own Joining, and every one since his own, he understood just how taxing it was on people. He hated to see anybody take the chance at a disadvantage. Of course it had nothing to do with how lost and afraid she looked at the prospect of being left at the jailor's mercy of Duncan hadn't conscripted her, like a rabbit spotting a wolf. Nothing at all to do with her probably being murdered for defending herself before finding the answers she clearly sought. Absolutely nothing to do with her being a pretty girl. Nope, nothing at all. 

In fact, it had everything to do with what he had just witnessed and if he had any advice that could have helped the men, then he would have shared it in a heartbeat too. True, if anyone found out that he had shared Grey Warden secrets then there would be consequences, there would be no doubt about it. He'd just need to make sure nobody found out, simple, right? He'd need to if he wanted to avoid being run through by Duncan, he may have been his mentor, and Alistair would even admit to him being like a Father figure to him, but he knew that the older man would not hesitate to do his duty. He never did. The Joining ceremony that they just witnessed was enough to confirm that. 

As the three recruits had gathered in the old temple, though Alistair believed that it was less of a temple and more of a ruined chantry, their already hushed conversation grew silent as Duncan, Alistair and Niya approached. Not before they had all picked up on the fear in their voices though. If Duncan had noticed, he ignored it.

"At last we come to the Joining. The Grey Wardens were founded during the first Blight, when humanity stood on the brink of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint," Duncan spoke slowly, purposefully.

"We... We're going to drink the blood of those... Those creatures?" Jory baulked.

"As our forefathers did before us, as we did before you.  _This_  is the source of our power and our victory," Duncan confirmed, scanning the faces as they grew paler.

Alistair hated having to explain, "those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint. We can sense it in the darkspawn and then use it to slay the archdemon." He watched Ser Jory's face, he hadn't meant to emphasise anything, but judging by his face he had only heard "survive" and "archdemon".

Oscar, who had until this point kept his mouth shut, finally spoke up, "come on, let's get this over with."

Duncan regarded him coolly, "we speak only a few words prior to the Joining, but those words have been spoken since the first. Alistair, if you would." 

 _That_  took him aback. Duncan had not allowed him to take the reigns on a ceremony before. He pushed his concern for their safety to the back of his mind and tried to pull forward the words he needed to speak. "Join us, brothers a..."  _Oops, no need to say "sisters" when there are no female recruits present_ , "join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. Should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that someday, we shall join you."

Alistair looked up and met the eyes of each of the men, memorising the features of their faces. He had shadowed for a few Joinings before, the only surviving recruit being Niya. Somehow he felt that the small moment he shared with each recruit went some way to show them that the words he spoke were true. That their sacrifice wouldn't be forgotten. In the time he had spent staring into the saucer like eyes of Jory, Duncan had already approached Daveth with the goblet filled with the tainted blood.

The thief took the chalice, bringing it to his lips and drinking deeply. Within moments he began to choke, his fingers clawed at his throat, leaving tiny red beads where his rough fingernails dug deeply into his skin. He fell to his knees, eyes rolling back. At that moment Alistair knew that he would not survive. Duncan clearly realised as well. Just before Daveth fell forward and his body ceased convulsing, Duncan managed to solemnly say, "I am sorry, Daveth," and then he was gone.  

The commotion had tipped Ser Jory into a full blown panic. 

"Step forward, Ser Jory," Duncan calmly said.

"But but... I have a wife... A child on the way..." He stammered, stepping backwards.

"There is no turning back," Duncan stated, closely watching the knight's hands as he began to reach towards his hilt.

"No... Had I known... You ask too much. There is no glory in this!" He snapped nervously, drawing his blade. 

Duncan shook his head and drew his own, just in time before Jory launched himself at the Grey Warden Commander. The scrape of steel broke the tension. Jory had the reach of a long sword, but Duncan did not become the Commander by luck, and his speed with his shorter daggers far outmatched the knight. Jory brought his sword up above his head, in what would be a deadly arc to an unskilled opponent. Duncan was faster. He ducked below the deadly blow and drove his right dagger home, under the knight's rib cage. He gasped, a choked, gargled sound before blood began to coat his lips and drip down his chin. 

"I'm sorry," Duncan sighed. Alistair knew that he meant it. As soon as he reached for his sword, he had left Duncan no other option. But it was still awful and it never got easier. Jory's death took him quickly after that. Duncan would have made sure that it was as quick as possible, there was no sense in letting the man suffer. 

As callous as it may have seemed, he moved quickly on to the young noble who had turned a noticeable shade of green.  _He had probably had a very limited exposure to death_ , Alistair concluded. The colour of the man did not stop Duncan, as he walked towards Oscar with the chalice held out for the young man to take. 

"Oscar, step forward," he spoke as calmly as before. As though the other two recruits were not laying dead at the floor.

Alistair was taken by surprise when the young man did not say a word, but took the chalice and drank deeply, with no hesitation. As with Daveth, the young man dropped the chalice, gripping at his throat and for one dreadful moment, Alistair thought that all three of them would have perished. But then the man released a blood curling scream, his eyes rolling backwards before he dropped to the floor like a drunk in a tavern. 

Alistair counted to a thousand, slowly, watching Duncan and waiting. He counted again. After what seemed like half his life, Duncan finally pulled the small looking mirror out of his pocket, holding it to the nobles face. It clouded as he exhaled. He would live. Within a few hours Oscar Cousland would awaken as a Grey Warden. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve  
The pain that rasped through Oscar's mind was excruciating. Images of the dragon seemed to scar his subconscious and scorch his nerves. He awoke on a cot, gasping and choking back as much oxygen as he could fit in his lungs. Lightheadedness quickly led to him deciding that that was a bad decision. He blinked a few times and rubbed at his eyes, brushing away any sleep sand that had formed in the corner. As his fingers met his eye, his skin reacted, burning under his own touch, much the same way as it would were he infirm enough to warrant a trip to the healers. He pulled away quickly, suddenly cold. 

It was only then that he fully opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He was sat up on his cot in a sparsely furnished tent, containing only another two empty cots and two small chests between each bed space. Whoever had brought him here had little care for his or they would have removed his armour, which still bore the Cousland insignia. Soon enough it would be replaced with Grey Warden armour. He stretched himself upwards, running his hands through his knotted hair, flashes of the Joining ceremony creeping back to him. He remembered the blood, so much blood. Then he recalled dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He tried to remember past that, but drew a blank. 

Growling in frustration as his fingers curled around a muddy blonde lock, he tugged his hands out of his hair. This wouldn't do. Oscar yanked himself out of bed with a huff and began to scan the area around his bed, before his eyes came to rest on the borrowed dagger that he had barely needed to use in the Korcari Wilds. It had since been cleaned of all of the black darkspawn blood that he did not doubt would warp the metal. To the untrained eye, it looked new. He picked it up, turning the hilt over in his hand; as a warrior he favoured the great sword, but he was not without skill in a range of weapons, including shield and long sword. He absently tossed the dagger from hand to hand before reaching it behind him and hacking out the knots from the back of his head. As the blonde locks dropped to the floor, Oscar raked his fingers through the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. Much better, he mentally sighed. While he would be the first to admit to be vain, after what he had seen in the Wilds, he saw the decision as purely practical. Nothing would be able to hold him by his long hair and cut his throat. 

It was at that moment for the first time in what felt like years, although it had only been a short few weeks, that he actually realised that he did not want to die. The Joining had killed, sort of, the other two recruits and yet he still drew breath. Surely that was some sort of sign? A familiar voice nearby drew him out from his inner monologue. Alistair! It would probably be best for him to start moving; him and Duncan would likely need his help in planning a strategy. After all, he had got some relevant experience in commanding troops. True, he had never led an assault, but every general and commander started somewhere. He sheathed his sword and swung his shield onto his back, the sudden exertion making him feel a little dizzy. He became aware that he hadn't eaten or drank anything since before the ceremony, and as of yet, he had no way of knowing whether that was an hour ago or three days ago. Shuffling towards the open flap in the tent, he listened carefully for anyone waiting to tell him off for being up. If Alistair had been sent to ensure that he rested, he was doing a truly terrible job. His voice had grown quiet and for a moment Oscar wondered whether he was hearing things. Leaving the tent, the keep had grown dark and shrouded in darkness under the night sky, but the faint glow that lined the trees suggested that dawn would catch up to them soon. 

A low chuckle drew him to the tent next to his, he hadn't heard things after all. The faint hum of conversation told Oscar that Alistair was not alone and, for a moment, he thought it better for him to not interrupt. However, curiosity soon got the better of him and as subtly as he could manage, he glanced through the open gap in the tent. 

Alistair sat on the cot next to a young woman, dressed casually in a rough spun tunic and trousers, though his sword and shield rested against the chest next to the cot. He seemed relaxed, as though he were speaking to an old friend with his back lightly resting against the tent wall and his arm propped up on his bent knee, intently listening to what the woman was saying. From Oscar's position he couldn't hear what she was saying, her back was to him anyway. She sat on the edge of the cot, wrapped tightly in a heavy dark blanket, a head of thick straw coloured curls poking out from the gap at the top. Her curls bounced as she enthusiastically waved her arms as she described something in hushed tones. Whatever she said caused a ripple of laughter to erupt from Alistair's face. Oscar felt as though he was interrupting a private and intimate moment and was about to leave when Alistair's spluttering drew his attention.

"Oscar! You're awake!" He said happily, a noticeable sigh of relief forming in his smile. 

The young woman turned to face him with a distrustful look in her blue eyes. She was around his own age, perhaps a little younger but not by much. Oscar studied her face, already feeling as though he knew the girl from somewhere. Maker, he hoped that he had not bedded her at some point! Then again, the more he stared, the more he thought that he would have remembered her if they had met under those circumstances previously. The way her eyes scanned him over, with one dark eyebrow raised made him feel vulnerable. She glanced back to Alistair as he shifted from his comfortable position on the cot to stand besides Oscar. 

It was only when his eyes were drawn to the man stood next to him that Oscar realised that he hadn't been paying attention. 

"Sorry, what did you say, Alistair?" He muttered.

"I said that I would like to introduce Elise Stones, she is another Grey Warden recruit who is due to undergo the Joining in a few days," Alistair repeated. 

Oscar nodded, barely paying attention, his eyes gazing back to the girl. He did not recall ever bedding an Elise, perhaps he was drunk? She had a powdering of freckles over her straight nose and a little mole just below the corner of her right nostril. Again, the girl glanced to Alistair and then back to him with suspicion in her gaze. It was only when the junior Grey Warden cleared his throat loudly that Oscar remembered his manners.

"Sorry! My Lady, I am Oscar Cousland. Although now I suppose I'm just Oscar," he calmly said, his brain still not responding to the after effects of his ceremony.

"I know. Alistair told me when you'd zoned out," she replied, more sharply than he expected.

"Oh... Well, I..." Oscar was suddenly lost for words.

"Nice to meet you," she smiled, saving him from awkwardly explaining.

Before he knew it, she had stuck her hand out for him to shake. Clumsily, he took her hand and gave it a firm shake. There were no callouses on her hands like her would expect from a warrior or a rogue, used to wielding swords or bows in their own defence. Perhaps she was a mage then. Her hands were too soft for the harsh realities of combat. A frown must have formed on his face at the thought. She tilted her head to one side, as though expecting him to say something. Shit, does she know me as well? Am I supposed to know her? Wait, what was the last thing she said? 

"It's erm, nice to meet you too," Oscar recovered quickly, flashing her a warm smile. 

Alistair clapped him on the shoulder, congratulating him on his Joining, but he barely registered.

"Oscar?" Alistair lightly shook his shoulder.

"Hmm?" He asked.

"How are you feeling?" The junior Warden repeated.

Oscar's stomach answered for him with a loud growl, "ummm, hungry actually." 

Alistair chuckled, "very well, let's get something to eat and leave Elise to rest."

"How many more times do I need to tell you? Ellie, please," she snapped good naturedly.

"Alright alright! You just don't look like an Ellie," Alistair grinned back.

"So you've said," she laughed.

"Get some rest, okay? You'll need to get your strength back," he instructed.

"I know, I know, I know! You're like a broken record, Jesus!" She chuckled slightly, Alistair glanced quickly at Oscar but he could only shrug in response. Maker knows what she was talking about. Her face grew serious after a moment, "hey, thanks for talking to me this morning. I feel a lot better."

"Any time. That's what I'm here for."

Alistair began to walk out of the tent, leaving Oscar to spare one more prolonged glance at the girl. Her smile for him did not come as easily as it did for his companion, it was almost a forced politeness. To make matters worse, Oscar could not explain his own sudden shyness. She wasn't particularly pretty and even if she was, he had never been one to be nervous around the fairer sex. Anything he attempted to say to her wouldn't seem right, he realised. Plus his stomach desperately growled a second time.

"Well, it was nice meeting you. I look forward to fighting by your side," he quickly gabbed before briskly leaving the tent without waiting for a response. Perhaps Alistair would know more about where she came from. But first, food. 

*************************

Ellie had been relaxing in her cot for the last few hours after Alistair's departure with the other man, Oscar. Since being put onto bed rest the day before she had little else to occupy her time with other than to sleep. There was little chance of any more coming to her this morning. 

The last hour or so before he came to her, she spent desperately trying not to pick at a scab that had started to form on her elbow. Her foster dad always used to scold her for poking and prodding at things; "that'll turn into a pig's foot by the morning if you keep at it," he'd say, awkwardly trying not to smile at his own hilarity. She hadn't had much success with leaving it alone, verbally groaning when she had made herself bleed but still not learning her lesson. Dirty redness stained under her fingernails and a brief flicker of concern washed over her. Although she still couldn't decide whether she was dreaming or not, on the off chance that she was actually here; in this medieval world, what would happen if she got an infection? Casting her mind back to history lessons in school (in which she usually paid more attention to applying lipstick and trying to hide headphones under her thick curls), she came to the realisation that medical advances such as antibiotics and the discovery of germs had not taken place yet. Therefore, if she found herself with an infected arm, the likelihood would be that shortly afterwards, she would find herself with no arm at all. That fact had stopped her momentarily from picking, but the temptation was still there.

It was for that reason, that she was quite thankful when she had heard Alistair's nervous voice crack through the fabric of the tent. 

"That's fine, Alistair, come in," she'd permitted, smiling to herself at the thought of company and distraction. 

He ducked in through the opening of the tent and, with a grin that spoke of gratitude and relief, he removed his sword and shield and set them against the canvas wall near her cot. Ellie watched him awkwardly hover, understanding that he wanted to sit but was waiting for an invitation. It seemed to her to be an act of chivalry that was rarely reciprocated in her world. In fact she found herself muttering under her breath, or loudly enough for people to hear often enough that chivalry in the twenty first century was well and truly dead. Whether it was the case here or not as well would be a mystery to her for some time. Though judging by her rude entry to Ferelden, somehow she doubted that it was any more alive here than back home. Still, it didn't matter to her a particularly great deal. She was a grown woman, she didn't need car doors being held open for her to make her feel valued.

With a shy smile, she threw him a lifeline, "sit down, I'm not going to bite."

He returned her smile with one of his own, heat creeping into his cheeks. He unskillfully disguised it by sitting down heavily on the cot, resting his back against the canvass wall of the tent. Under his weight, the light leather cot lurched, bouncing Ellie upwards. 

She laughed loudly as his arms flailed wildly as he tried to steady himself. "Easy, tiger!" She sniggered, her hand lightly coming to rest on his bent knee. He stilled and met her gaze, sobering her. She pulled her hand away as though he were on fire, a blush angrily spreading up her cheeks. 

"Sorry, I..."

"Are you nervous?" He interrupted, seemingly desperate to dispell the awkwardness that she had caused.

"Nervous?" She asked, her breath catching in her throat.

"Ah... About the Joining," he was clearly uncomfortable, Ellie felt her stomach tie itself in knots in guilt. She had made him feel this way, she shouldn't have touched his knee. It was too familiar, forward and flirtatious. He wouldn't want a stranger doing that, especially not when he had a woman as potent as Niya by his side. 

"After your comforting words of wisdom?" She bit, playfully. 

"Oh... Erm... Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you," he apologized.

"You didn't frighten me, I was only teasing you," she assured him.

"I just want you to stand the best chance of, erm, passing," he explained.

"I understand," she said smiling.

The awkward silence that followed allowed Ellie to dwell on the way he said "passing". The more she thought about it, the more her stomach began to feel like she had swallowed lead. She didn't want to verbalise it, but her mind took her to a place where “passing” or failing would be a lot more serious than having to re-sit a French test. 

“When will it be? My Joining?” she asked, desperate to break the tension.

“Soon, I should think. There’s going to be an attack tonight on the darkspawn. King Cailan believes that we’ve got the darkspawn on the run and that it’ll be a certain victory. If that happens then your Joining will perhaps be the following day or the day after,” he replied, sceptically. 

Ellie mulled his response over, “What do you think?”

“I think you need more time to recover.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she stated.

Alistair sighed in defeat. “I know. I think... Duncan also thinks that this is too easy a victory. There hasn’t been any sign of... Well... umm something that makes it harder. Look, we just don’t believe that this battle can be won tonight unless something big and scary and swoopy happens,” he stammered.

“Swoopy?” 

“You heard me!” he said, biting his lip. A flashback of an enormous scaled dragon flashed across her subconscious and for a moment she imagined that was what he was referring to. But she dismissed it. That creature had saved her life from the explosives. She couldn’t remember her journey to this place, but one thing that she was certain of was that if that dragon had not appeared at that moment then she would have been surely killed. There was no way that it was going to save her, only to kill her later.

“Alright, I’ll be on my guard for something cryptic and swoopy. But you don’t need to be so mysterious, I’m a lot more open minded than you’re giving me credit for,” she smiled.

“I’ll bare that in mind,” he smiled back and paused, “I mean... Umm what I mean is...”

“What’s Duncan like to work with? He seems like a good leader,” she asked, changing the subject, aware of the blush rising in her cheeks.

“He... He’s very fair and honourable. He’s a good man and a great warrior. I couldn’t ask for a better man to lead us, care for us and mentor us,” he replied proudly.

“You sound like you really admire him. He seems like a good bloke.”

“Well you’re a soldier yourself. Were the men you fought for good?”

“Ha! It depends! If you mean the British Government then absolutely not, they’re a bunch of corrupt bastards who are out for themselves. But the men I served with, they were the good guys. Our Captain was tough, but he didn’t take combat lightly. Whoever’s side we were on, we’re all human beings fighting for the people running our countries, rather than the people of our countries. If that makes sense. He wasn’t a trigger happy arsehole, if there was an alternative then he’d take it without hesitation,” she explained, feeling proud to have worked with someone like that.

“I think you’ll like working with Duncan. He’s very similar,” he replied, “you know it’s just occurred to me that there haven’t been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?”

“Maybe we're too good for you?” Ellie teased.

“True, but then what does that make you?” he quipped without missing a beat.

Ellie’s arms flailed in the air in mock defeat! “That’s it! You’ve got me! I’m a failure at life and that’s why fate has brought me here!” she laughed. 

When Alistair laughed along with her, she felt the lead in her stomach beginning to ease. It was comforting having somebody to joke with and despite her worries, she felt herself starting to relax. That was when she noticed the young man who stood at the entrance to her tent. Alistair followed her gaze and stood with a start when his eyes met with the stranger’s. 

“Oscar! You’re awake!” Alistair had exclaimed happily, noticeably relieved at the sight of the man. 

Ellie had played the awkward introduction over in her mind several times since the two men left her tent to find their next meal. The new man, Oscar, had seemed very uncomfortable around her and she had to wonder what she had done to make him feel that way. As much as she thought about, she could not imagine that she had said anything wrong, but then again, she had a habit of putting her foot in her mouth when she thought that she was being smooth. There was something strange about him though and no matter how often she tried to convince herself that she was imagining it, she could not put her finger on why. Something did not sit right though. The tent flap opened and drew her attention towards the stranger entering her space.

“Elise?” The woman asked. She was dressed in the same dress that Wynne had worn, but was many years younger, with dusky skin and waves of black hair trailing down her back, tied into a pony tail at the nape of her neck.   
“That’s me,” Ellie replied.

“I’ve been sent to bring you to the catacombs before the assault,” the robed woman explained.

“Where’s Wynne?” Ellie asked.

“She received a letter ordering her back to the Circle on urgent business. I have been charged with overseeing your recovery in the meantime. My name is Adrina. Do you have everything ready?”

Ellie quickly glanced around the tent, her rifle was next to her cot perched on top of her webbing. She did not have anything else other than the clothes on her back. “Yes,” she nodded, standing up and collecting her things.

“Follow me, please. I will take you somewhere safe,” Adrina instructed, in an authoritative voice that brooked no argument. 

Ellie obeyed and followed behind the mage, feeling a lot like a sheep being herded towards danger, rather than to safety.


End file.
